GIFT  OF 
John  H.    Mee 


r 


:^M 


'■^■i 


\ 


THE    COMEDY   OF  HUMAN  LIFE 
Bv    H.  DE   BALZAC 


SCENES    FROM    PROVINCIAL    LIFE 


LOST    ILLUSIONS 

The  Two  Poets 
Eve  and  David 


BALZAC'S     NOVELS. 

'I'ranslatcd  by   Miss  K.   P.  WoRMELEY. 


.tlrrndt/   I'lihlishetl: 
PERE     GORIOT. 
DUCHESSE     DE     LANGEAIS. 
RISE  AND  FALL  OF  CESAR  BIROTTEAU. 
EUGENIE     GRANDET. 
COUSIN     PONS. 
THE     COUNTRY     DOCTOR. 
THE     TWO     BROTHERS. 
THE    ALKAHEST. 
MODESTE     MIGNON. 
THE   MAGIC    SKIN  (Peau  de  Chagrin). 
COUSIN     BETTE. 
LOUIS     LAMBERT. 
BUREAUCRACY  (Les  Employes). 
SERAPHITA. 
SONS    OP    THE     SOIL. 
FAME    AND    SORROW. 
THE    LILY    OP    THE    VALLEY, 
URSULA. 

AN    HISTORICAL    MYSTERY. 
ALBERT    SAVARUS. 
BALZAC  :    A   MEMOIR. 
PIERRETTE. 
THE    CHOUANS. 
LOST    ILLUSIONS. 

— ■• 

KOBKRTS     HROTHKRS,    Puhllsheus, 

BOSTON. 


HONORE    DF.    BALZAC 

TKANoLATh')     B^' 

KATHARINE    PRESCOTT    WORMELEY 


LOST   ILLUSIONS 


-\ 


The  Two  Poets 
Eve  and  David 


ROBERTS     BROTHERS 


3     SOMERSET     STREET 


BOSTON 
1893 


GIFT  OF 


^Aa 


Copyright,  1893, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 


All  rights  reserved. 


Clnibrroitn  JiTfOB : 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Camhkiugk,  U.S.A. 


"D, 


NOTE. 

''  Illusions  Perdues  "  is  in  three  parts,  of  which 
the  first  and  third  ('' Les  Deux  Pontes"  and  "Eve  et 
David")  belong  consecutively  together;  while  the 
second  part  ( "  Un  Grand  Homme  de  Province  a 
Paris")  is,  comparatively,  an  independent  histor}-.  For 
the  convenience  and  uniformit}'  of  this  series  of  trans- 
lations the  first  and  third  parts  are  here  jilaced  to- 
gether ;  the  second  part  will  follow  under  the  title  : 
*'  A  Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris." 


796250 


CONTENTS. 


Part  first. 

THE    TWO    POETS. 

PAGE 
I.       A   PRI^'TING-H0USE    IN    THE    PROVINCES   ...  1 

II.  Madame  de  Bargetox 28 

III.  An  Evening  in  Society 60 

IV.  Ax  Evening  by  the  Riverside 118 

V.  Catastrophes  of  Provixcial  Love     .     .     .  146 

?Part  ^mnti. 

EVE     AND     DAVID. 

I.     A  Brave  "Woman 179 

II.     The  First  Thunderclap 202 

III.  Lecture,  public  axd  gratuitous,  on  Bills 

OF   Costs,   for  the    Benefit    of    Young 
Men  who  cannot  meet  their  Notes  .     .     222 

IV.  Eureka 238 

V.     Why  Arrest  for  Debt  is  extremely  rare 

IN  THE  Provinces 262 


Vlll 


Lost  Illusions. 

PAGE 


VI.     A  Ckisis,  whkn  tin-:  Dous  stand  and  look 

AT    EACH    OTIIEi: 279 

VII.     'J'lii:  RiiTUUN  OF  THE  Tkodigal  Bkotiiei;    .  293 

\ili.     TuE  Machineky  of  an  Ovation  ....  30G 
IX.     Lucien's     Kepkisals    at     the     Hotel    de 

Baugeton 336 

X.       A      SUI'KEME      FaUEWELL,      FOLLOWED      BY      A 

Lecture  on  Histouy  and   another   on 

Morality 351 

XI.     A  Day  too  Late 384 

XII.     An  Illusion  Uejjigned 406 


LOST    ILLUSIONS. 


PART  FIRST. 

THE    TWO    POETS. 
I. 

A   PRINTING-HOUSE    IN    THE    PROVINCES. 

At  the  period  when  this  history  begins,  Stanhope's 
press  and  cylinders  for  the  distribntion  of  ink  were  nil- 
known  to  provincial  printing-houses.  In  spite  of  the 
specialt}'  which  brought  Angouleine  into  close  relations 
with  Parisian  typography,  that  town  was  still  making 
use  of  wooden  presses,  —  from  which  the  term,  now 
meaningless,  a  ''  groaning  press,"  was  derived.  The 
antiquated  leathern  pads,  daubed  with  ink,  with  which 
ihe  pressmen  stamped  the  type,  were  still  in  use.  The 
movable  frame  where  they  now  place  the  form,  filled 
with  letters  on  which  the  paper  is  applied,  was  then  of 
stone,  and  justified  its  technical  name  of  ""  marble." 
The  ravenous  mechanical  presses  of  our  day  have  made 
us  forget  so  completely  this  old-time  mechanism  (to 
which,  in  spite  of  its  imperfections,  we  owe  the  noble 
work  of  Elzevir,  of  Plantin,  Aldiui,  Didot,  and  others) 
that  it  is  necessary  to  mention  these  old  tools  for  which 

1 


2       '  ■       '  .LoW  Illusions. 

their  owner,  Jer6me-Nieolas  Sechard,  felt  a  supersti- 
tious affection  ;  the^'  have  a  part  to  play  in  this  great 
little  histor}'. 

Sechard  was  formorh"  a  journeyman  printer,  of  the 
kind  which  the  workmen  whose  duty  it  was  to  collect 
the  letters  called,  in  typographic  slang,  a  "bear." 
The  incessant  coming  and  going  and  turning,  ver}-  like 
that  of  a  bear  in  bis  cage,  with  which  the  pressmen 
moved  from  the  ink  to  tlie  press,  and  from  the  press  to 
the  ink,  was  no  doubt  the  origin  of  the  nickname.  In 
return,  the  bears  called  the  compositors  "  monkeys,"  on 
account  of  the  agilit}'  with  which  those  gentr}'  were 
obliged  to  catch  up  the  letters  from  the  hundred  and 
fiftj'  little  cases  which  contained  them.  At  the  dis- 
astrous period  of  the  Revolution,  Sechard,  then  about 
fifty  years  old,  was  lately  married.  His  age  and  his 
marriage  saved  him  from  the  great  draft  which  swept 
nearly  all  the  workmen  of  France  into  the  army.  The 
old  pressman  was  left  alone  in  the  printing-onice,  the 
master  of  which  (otherwise  termed  the  "naif)  had 
just  died,  leaving  a  widow  and  two  children.  The 
establishment  seemed  threatened  with  immediate  col- 
lapse. The  solitar}'  bear  could  not  be  transformed  into 
a  monkey  for  the  reason  that,  in  his  capacity  as  a  press- 
man, he  had  not  knowu  how  to  read  or  write.  At  this 
juncture  a  representative  of  the  people,  eager  to  dis- 
tribute the  noble  decrees  of  the  Convention,  bestowed 
upon  the  pressman,  without  paying  any  heed  to  his 
incapacity,  tlie  license  of  a  master-})rinter,  and  gave 
him  the  work  to  do. 

Having  accepted  this  perilous  license,  citizen  Si'rhard 
bouiiht  out  the  widow  of  his  master  with  the  savings  of 


Lost  Illusions.  3 

his  own  wife,  paying  for  the  establishment  about  half 
its  actual  value.  But  that  was  nothing.  He  was  now 
constrained  to  print,  without  error  or  dela}',  all  the 
Republican  decrees.  At  this  ditlicult  juncture  JerOme- 
Nicolas  Sechard,  luckily  for  him,  met  a  Marseilles 
nobleman  who  was  anxious  to  neither  emigrate  (and 
lose  his  property),  nor  be  noticed  (and  lose  his  head), 
but  who  was  forced  to  earn  his  living  b}'  some  form  of 
toil.  Accordingl}'  he,  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Maucombe 
donned  the  humble  jacket  of  a  foreman  of  a  provincial 
printing-office.  He  set  up  in  type  and  corrected  the 
proofs  of  the  very  decrees  which  condemned  to  death 
all  citizens  who  harbored  and  hid  the  nobles  ;  the  bear 
(now  become  a  '•'naif")  struck  them  off  and  posted 
them  ;  and  the  pair,  thus  employed,  remained  safe  and 
sound. 

In  1795,  when  the  whirlwind  of  the  Terror  was  over, 
Nicolas  Sechard  was  obliged  to  look  out  for  another 
foreman.  An  abbe,  afterwards  bishop  under  the  Resto- 
ration, who  had  refused  the  oath,  took  the  place  of 
the  Comte  de  Maucombe  until  Napoleon  restored  the 
Catholic  worship.  The  count  and  the  bishop  met  later 
on  the  same  bench  in  the  Chamber  of  peers. 

Though  Jerome-Nicolas  Sechard  knew  no  more  about 
reading  and  writing  in  1802  than  he  did  in  1793,  he 
had,  nevertheless,  accumulated  enough  of  this  world's 
goods  to  hire  a  foreman.  The  journeyman  once  so 
careless  of  his  future  had  now  become  extremely  terri- 
f3'ing  to  his  monke3'S  and  his  bears.  Avarice  begins 
where  poverty  ends.  The  day  on  which  the  printer 
perceived  that  he  might  possibly  make  his  fortune,  self- 
interest  developed  in  him  a  material  intelligence,  keen 


4  Lost  Illusions. 

as  to  his  trade,  greed}',  suspicious,  and  penetrating.  His 
practice  set  theory  at  defiance.  He  learned  to  estimate 
at  a  single  glance  the  cost  of  a  page  or  a  sheet,  ac- 
cording to  the  type  employed.  He  proved  to  ignorant 
customers  that  large  letters  cost  more  to  handle  than 
small  ones,  —  unless  it  were  a  question  of  the  small 
ones,  for  then  they  became  the  more  difficult  of  the  two 
to  manage.  Composition  being  a  part  of  typography 
of  which  he  knew  nothing,  he  was  so  afraid  of  making 
mistakes  that  he  never  trusted  himself  on  any  but 
sure  ground.  If  his  compositors  worked  by  the  hour, 
his  e3'e  never  left  them.  If  a  paper-dealer  were  in  diiii- 
culties,  he  bought  up  his  stock  at  a  low  price  and  stored 
the  paper.  By  this  time  he  owned  the  house  in  which 
the  printing  business  had  been  carried  on  b}'  his  prede- 
cessors from  time  immemorial.  He  had  all  sorts  of 
good  luck.  He  became  a  widower,  and  had  but  one 
son  ;  whom  he  sent  to  the  town  lyceum,  less  for  the 
sake  of  benefiting  the  youth  than  to  get  himself  a  suc- 
cessor. He  treated  his  son  sternly,  to  prolong  the 
period  of  parental  power ;  he  made  him  spend  his  holi- 
days at  the  cases,  telling  him  to  learn  how  to  make  his 
living,  and  some  day  reward  his  poor  father,  who  was 
using  his  life's  blood  to  bring  him  up. 

When  the  abbe  left  the  office  Sechard  chose  a  fore- 
man from  among  the  four  compositors  whom  the  future 
bishop  assured  him  were  as  honest  as  they  were  intelli- 
gent. In  this  way  he  managed  to  carry  on  his  estab- 
lishment until  his  son  was  old  enough  to  direct  it. 
David  Sc'chard  niade  brilliant  progress  at  the  Lyceum 
of  Angouleme.  Thougli  old  Si'chard  —  as  a  bear  who 
had  made  his  wa}'  in  life  without  knowledge  or  educa- 


Lust  lUusions.  5 

tiou  —  despised  learning,  he  sent  his  son  to  Paris  to 
study  the  best  typography  ;  but  he  gave  him  such  vehe- 
ment orders  to  amass  a  good  round  sum  in  a  city  which 
he  called  the  "■  workman's  paradise  "  (telling  him  not  to 
expect  a  penny  from  the  parental  purse)  that  he  must 
have  seen  a  means  to  his  secret  ends  in  this  sojourn  of 
the  lad  in  the  "  land  of  ivnowledge." 

While  learning  the  trade  David  finished  his  educa- 
tion. The  Didot's  foreman  became  a  man  of  science. 
Toward  the  close  of  the  year  1819  he  returned  from 
Paris  without  having  cost  his  father  a  single  peun}-. 
The  old  man  had  recalled  him  to  put  the  helm  of  the 
business  into  his  liands.  The  printing-house  of  Nicolas 
SJchard  published  the  only  journal  of  legal  advertise- 
ments which  existed  in  the  department ;  it  had  also  the 
custom  of  the  prefecture,  and  that  of  the  bisliopric,  — 
three  sources  of  prosperity  which  ought  to  bring  fortune 
to  an  active  3'oung  man. 

Just  at  this  ver\'  time  the  Cointet  Brothers,  paper- 
maivers,  bought  up  the  second  printing  license  in  An- 
gouleme,  which  Sechard  had  hitherto  managed  to  re- 
duce to  inaction,  thanlis  to  the  various  military  crises 
which,  under  tlie  Empire,  repressed  all  industrial  enter- 
prise. For  this  reason  he  had  neglected  to  bu}'  it ; 
and  this  parsimony  was  one  cause  of  the  ultimate 
rain  of  the  old  printing-house.  When  he  heard  of  the 
purchase  old  Sachard  complacently  reflected  that  the 
struggle  with  the  Cointets  would  now  be  carried  on  by 
his  son  and  not  by  himself.  '•  I  should  have  brokeii 
down,"  thought  he;  "  but  a  young  man  trained  by  tlie 
Didots  will  pull  through  it.''  The  old  man  was  long- 
ing for  the  time  when  he  couid  live  as  he  pleased.     He 


0  Lost  llhmons. 

had,  it  is  true,  little  acquaiutaiice  with  the  upper  walks 
ol"  typography,  but  he  was  thought  very  able  iu  the  art 
which  workmen  have  called  iu  jest  aoalograplde^  an 
art  highl3'  esteemed  by  the  marvellous  author  of  "  Pau- 
tagruel ; "  the  culture  of  which,  persecuted  by  what  are 
termed  temperauce  societies,  is  now,  we  may  almost 
say,  abandoned.  Jer6me->«icolas  Sechard,  true  to  the 
destiny  which  his  name  bestowed,  was  gifted  with  an  in- 
extinguishable thirst.  His  wife  had  managed  for  a  long 
time  to  keep  within  due  limits  this  passion  for  grape-juice, 
—  so  natural  to  a  bear  that  Monsieur  de  Chateaubriand 
observed  it  among  the  real  bears  of  America.  But 
philosophers  have  recorded  that  the  habits  of  youth  are 
wont  to  return  with  added  strength  in  old  age.  Sechard 
was  an  example  of  tliis  moral  law  ;  the  older  he  grew, 
the  more  he  loved  drink.  This  passion  left  upon  his 
ursine  countenance  certain  marks  which  gave  it  origi- 
nality ;  his  nose  had  taken  the  form  and  development  of 
a  capital  A ;  his  veiny  cheeks,  like  vine-leaves  covered 
with  pui'ple  gibbosities  and  streaked  with  various  colors, 
gave  to  his  head  the  appearance  of  a  monstrous  trullie 
clasped  by  the  shoots  of  autumn.  Hiding  behind  thick 
e3'ebrows,  which  resembled  bushes  covered  with  snow,  his 
small  gra}"  eyes,  glittering  with  the  avarice  which  had 
killed  every  other  emotion  within  him,  even  that  oi 
paternit}',  kept  their  intelligence  when  he  himself  was 
drunk.  His  bald  head,  fringed  with  grizzly  hair  tliat 
curled  at  the  points,  recalled  to  the  imagination  the 
friars  of  La  Fontaine.  He  was  short  and  corpulent 
like  tlie  old-fashioned  church  lamps  which  consume 
more  oil  than  wick  ;  for  excess  in  anything  forces  the 
body  in  the  direction  of  its  own  tendencies  ;  drunken- 


Lout  Illusions.  7 

ness,  like  stiulv,  makes  a  fat  man  fatter  and  a  thin  man 
tliinner. 

For  the  hist  thirty  years  Jerome-Nicolas  Sechard  had 
worn  the  famous  three-cornered  municipal  hat,  which 
in  some  of  the  provinces  may  still  be  seen  on  the  head 
of  the  drum-majors  of  the  neighborhood.  His  waist- 
coat and  trousers  were  of  greenish  velveteen,  and  he 
wore  an  old  brown  coat,  blue  and  white  cotton  stockings, 
and  shoes  with  silver  buckles.  This  costume,  in  which 
the  workman  and  the  tradesman  were  combined,  was 
so  well  suited  to  his  habits,  it  expressed  his  being  so 
admirabl}',  that  he  seemed  to  have  been  born  ready 
dressed  :  you  could  no  more  imagine  him  without  his 
clothes  than  you  could  see  an  onion  without  its  layers 
of  skin. 

If  the  blind  and  besotted  greed  of  the  old  printer 
were  not  already  well  known,  his  method  of  getting  rid 
of  his  printing  business  would  suffice  to  show  his  char- 
acter. In  defiance  of  the  better  knowledge  which  his 
son  was  certain  to  bring  back  from  the  great  house  of 
the  Didots,  old  Sechard  intended  to  strike  the  hard  bar- 
gain he  had  long  meditated,  —  a  bargain  of  which  he  was 
to  make  a  good  thing  and  his  son  a  bad  one.  But  to 
his  mind  there  was  no  such  thing  as  father  or  son  in 
business  matters.  He  may  at  first  have  considered 
David  in  the  light  of  an  only  child,  but  he  now  saw  him 
only  as  a  purchaser,  whose  natural  interests  were  op- 
posed to  his  own.  He  meant  to  sell  dear ;  David,  of 
course,  would  wish  to  buy  cheap :  his  son  became, 
therefore,  an  enemy  to  conquer.  This  transformation 
of  feeling  into  selfish  interest,  which  is  ordinarily  slow, 
tortuous,  and  hypocritical    in    educated  persons,  was 


8  Lost  Ilb(sio)is. 

rapid  and  undisguised  in  the  old  bear,  who  lost  no  time 
in  showing  how  wary  grogginess  could  get  the  better  of 
educated  t3'pograph3-.  When  liis  son  arrived  he  re- 
ceived him  with  the  commercial  tenderness  which  all 
clever  dealers  show  to  their  dupes ;  he  showed  as  much 
solicitude  as  a  lover  for  his  mistress  ;  gave  him  his  arm, 
told  him  where  to  walk  out  of  the  mud,  had  his  bed 
warmed,  a  fire  lighted,  and  a  supper  made  ready.  The 
next  da\%  after  trj'ing  to  intoxicate  his  son  at  a  copious 
dinner,  Jerome  Sechard  (himself  verj-  drunk)  said  sud- 
denh',  *^Now  we  '11  talk  business,"  —  a  proposal  emitted 
between  two  hiccoughs  in  so  singular  a  manner  that 
David  at  once  proposed  to  put  off  the  matter  till  the 
next  morning.  But  the  old  bear  knew  too  well  how  to 
make  use  of  his  drunkenness  to  give  up  the  battle  he 
had  long  been  planning.  Besides,  having  carried  his 
ball  and  chain  for  fifty  years  he  was  determined  not  to 
bear  it  an  hour  longer ;  his  son  should  be  its  victim  on 
the  morrow. 

Here  we  must  sa\'  a  word  about  the  printing-office. 
It  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  rue  de  Beauliou  nnd  the 
place  du  Murier,  in  a  house  it  had  occupied  since 
the  close  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  All  parts  of 
the  building  had  long  been  arranged  for  the  different 
departments  of  a  printer's  trade.  The  giound-fioor 
mad6  one  enormous  room,  lighted  towards  the  street 
))y  an  old  casement,  and  by  a  very  large  window  open- 
ing on  an  inner  court.  Tlie  master's  private  office 
could  be  reached  by  a  small  alle\'-way  ;  but  the  various 
processes  of  typography  are  the  ol)jects  of  such  liveh' 
curiosity  in  tlio  provinces  that  tlie  clients  and  custom- 
ers preferred  to  enter  by  a  glass  d(^or  which  opened  on 


Lout  Ilhiaions,  9 

the  street,  although  the}'  were  obliged  to  go  down  some 
steps,  tlie  floor  of  the  prinling-room  being  below  the 
level  of  the  roadway.  Inquisitive  visitors,  who  were  al- 
ways bewildered  by  the  scene,  paid  little  or  no  atten- 
tion to  the  intricacies  of  tlie  place.  While  they  gazed 
at  the  vault  of  paper,  stretched  on  ropes,  hanging  from 
the  ceiling,  the}"  stumbled  against  the  rows  of  cases,  or 
had  their  hats  knocked  off  b}-  the  iron  bars  which  held 
up  the  presses.  If  they  watched  the  active  motions  of 
a  compositor,  picking  his  letters  from  the  hundred  and 
fifty-two  compartments  of  his  case,  readuig  his  cop}', 
rereading  liis  composed  line,  then  slipping  in  the  lead, 
they  would  blunder  into  reams  of  damp  paper,  pressed 
by  weights,  or  catch  their  hips  against  the  angles  of  a 
form,  to  the  great  delight  of  bear  and  monkeys.  Xo 
one  had  ever  reached,  without  some  such  accident,  the 
two  large  cages  at  the  farther  end  of  this  cavern,  which 
formed  two  dismal  pavilions  looking  on  the  courtyard, 
in  one  of  which  the  foreman  had  liis  desk,  while  the 
other  was  the  master's  office. 

The  walls  of  the  courtyard  were  agreeably  decorated 
with  trellises  covered  with  vines,  which,  in  keeping  with 
the  reputation  of  the  owner,  had  an  appetizing  local 
color.  At  the  farther  end,  backing  on  the  division  wall, 
was  a  shed  where  the  paper  was  damped  and  cut. 
There,  too,  was  the  sink  in  which  they  washed  the  forms, 
or,  to  use  the  conimon  term,  the  type-boards  ;  a  decoc- 
tion of  ink  flowed  from  this  sink  and  mingled  with  the 
household  drainage,  making  the  peasants  who  came  to 
town  on  the  market  days  imagine  that  the  devil  had 
been  cleaning  himself  in  that  house.  This  shed  was 
flanked  on  one  side  by  the  kitchen,  on  the  other  by  the 


10  Lost  Illusions, 

wood-pile.  The  first  floor  of  the  house,  above  which 
there  were  only  two  attic  chambers,  contained  three 
rooms.  Tlie  first,  lighted  towards  tlie  street  by  a  small 
oblong  window  and  on  the  courtyard  by  a  circular  one, 
served  as  antechamber  and  dining-room  in  one.  The 
cynical  simplicity  of  commercial  stinginess  was  shown 
b}'  the  whitewashed  walls ;  the  tiles  of  the  floor  were 
never  washed ;  the  furniture  consisted  of  three  ricket}' 
chairs,  a  round  table,  a  sideboard  placed  between  two 
doors,  which  opened,  one  into  a  bedroom,  the  other  into 
the  salon.  Doors  and  windows  were  dingy  with  dirt. 
White  or  printed  paper  usually  choked  up  this  room, 
and  Nicolas  Sechard's  bottles  and  dinner  dishes  might 
often  be  seen  on  the  bales  and  reams. 

The  bedroom,  tlie  window  of  which,  with  its  leaded 
panes,  looked  on  the  courtyard,  was  hung  with  old 
tapestry,  such  as  we  often  see  draping  the  walls  of  pro- 
vincial houses  on  the  occasion  of  the  Fete-Dieu.  In  it 
was  a  four-post  bedstead  with  curtains,  valance,  ami 
coverlet  of  red  serge,  two  worm-eaten  armchairs,  two 
other  chairs  covered  with  tapestiy,  an  old  desk,  and  a 
clock  on  the  chimney-piece.  The  salon,  modernized 
by  the  late  Madame  Se'chard,  presented  a  horril)le 
combination  of  woodwork,  painted  a  vivid  blue  ;  panels, 
papered  with  Oriental  landscapes,  and  colored  willi 
sepia  on  a  white  ground  ;  and  six  chairs,  covered  willi 
sheep-skin,  dyed  blue,  the  backs  of  wliicli  represented 
lyres.  The  two  windows  were  chnnsily  arciicd  and 
looked  out,  curtainless,  on  the  phice  du  IMurier.  Tlie 
chimney-piece  liad  no  ornament,  neither  clock,  candle- 
sticks, nor  mirror.  jMadame  Scchard  died  in  the  midst 
of  her  projects  of  cmbcllislunent,  and  the  bear,  seeing 


Lost  Illusions.  11 

no  use  ill  adornments  which  brought  him  nothing,  dis- 
continued his  wife's  plans. 

It  was  to  this  room  that  Jerome-Nicolas  Sechard, 
pede  titubante^hvought  his  son  to  show  him,  on  a  round 
table,  the  inventor}'  of  the  establishment,  made  out  un- 
der his  directions  b}-  the  foreman. 

''  Read  that,  my  lad,''  said  he,  rolling  his  tips}-  eyes 
from  the  paper  to  his  son,  and  from  his  son  to  the 
paper.  "You'll  see  what  a  jewel  of  a  business  I'm 
going  to  let  you  have." 

David  began  to  read  :  — 

"  '  Three  wooden  presses  held  together  by  iron  bars, 
with  beds  of  marble  in  iron  frames  — '  " 

"  That's  an  improvement  of  mine,"  said  old  Sechard, 
Interrupting  his  son. 

"  '  With  all  their  utensils,  —  ink-pots,  balls,  banks, 
etc.,  sixteen  hundred  francs' —  But,  father,"  said 
David,  letting  fall  the  inventor}',  "  3'our  presses  are 
old-fashioned  things,  not  worth  three  hundred  —  in  fact, 
the}'  are  only  fit  for  firewood." 

"  Old-fashioned  !  "  cried  his  father.  "  Old-fashioned  ! 
Take  the  inventory,  and  let's  go  down  and  look  at 
them.  You  shall  see  that  your  trumpery  mechanical 
inventions  can't  work  like  these  long-tried  tools.  AVhen 
you've  seen  them,  you  won't  have  the  heart  to  villify 
honest  presses  which  roll  like  mail-coaches,  and  can 
go  a  lifetime  without  repairs.  Old-fashioned,  indeed ! 
Yes,  old  fashions,  which  will  give  you  porridge ;  old 
fashions,  which  your  father  has  handled  these  twenty 
years,  and  which  served  him  to  make  you  what  you  are 
now." 

So  saying  he  shambled  down  the  rickety,  trembling 


12  Loiit  Illusions. 

staircase  without  trijiping,  rushed  at  the  firf^t  press, 
which  had  just  been  craf'tih'  oiled  and  cleaned,  and 
pointed  to  its  strong  oaken  sides  freshh'  polished  In*  an 
apprentice. 

"  Is  n't  that  a  love  of  a  press?"  he  cried. 

A  marriage  invitation  happened  to  be  on  it.  The 
old  bear  lowered  the  frisket  on  the  tympan,  and  the 
tvmpan  on  the  slab,  which  he  rolled  beneath  the  press ; 
then  he  pulled  the  bar,  unrolled  the  rope  to  draw  back 
the  slab,  and  raised  the  frisket  and  the  t^'mpan  with  the 
agilit}'  which  a  3'oung  bear  might  have  given  to  it. 
The  press  thus  handled  emitted  a  cry  like  that  of  a 
bird  which  strikes  against  a  window-pane  and  flies 
awa3\  "  Where  's  there  a  single  English  press  able  to 
work  as  fast  as  that?"  he  said  to  his  amazed  son. 

The  old  fellow  hurried  to  the  second  press,  then  to 
the  third,  on  both  of  which  he  performed  the  same  ma- 
noeuvre with  the  same  agility.  Tiie  last  betrayed  to 
his  vinous  eye  a  spot  neglected  by  his  apprentice,  and 
the  old  drunkard  with  edifying  oaths  took  the  tail  of 
his  coat  and  rubbed  it  clean,  as  a  jocke}'  polishes  the 
hide  of  a  horse  he  wants  to  sell. 

"  With  those  three  presses  you  can  earn  nine  thou- 
sand francs  a  j'ear  without  a  foreman,  David.  As  your 
future  partner,  I  oppose  your  replacing  them  with  those 
cursed  cast-iron  things  wliich  wear  out  the  ty[)e.  You 
all  cried  miracle  in  Paris  over  the  invention  of  that 
damne<l  Englishman,  tlie  enemy  of  Ej-ance,  whose  only 
object  was  to  make  the  fortune  of  found  lies.  I  la  !  you 
wanted  stanhopes,  did  you?  a  fig  for  your  stanhopes, 
which  cost  two  tliousand  five  hundred  francs  apiece, 
nearly  twice  what  those  three  jewels  of  mine  are  worth, 


Lust  Illusions,  13 

—  machines  which  crack  the  type  in  two  for  want  of 
eiasticit}'.  1  'ni  not  a  learned  man  like  you,  but  just 
remember  this  that  I  tell  you  ;  the  life  of  stanhopes  is 
the  death  of  type.  These  three  presses  will  do  you 
good  service,  the  work  will  be  properly  done,  and  what 
more  do  you  want?  Whether  you  print  with  iron  or 
wood  or  with  gold  or  silver,  you  won't  earn  a  farthing 
the  more  by  it." 

''' Item,' "  continued  David:  "'five  million  pounds 
of  type  from  the  foundry  of  M.  Vaflard  — '  " 

The  pupil  of  the  Didots  could  not  repress  a  smile  at 
the  name. 

"Laugh!  oh,  3'es,  you  may  laugh!  After  twelve 
years'  use  that  type  is  as  good  as  new.  M.  Vaflard  is 
what  I  call  a  good  founder ;  he  's  an  honest  man,  who 
supplies  lasting  stuff.  To  my  thinking  the  best  founder 
is  the  one  to  whom  you  seldom  go." 

"'appraised  at  ten  thousand  francs'"  said  David, 
reading  on.  "Ten  thousand  francs,  father!  wh}',  that 
is  fort}'  sous  a  pound,  and  Messrs.  Didot  ask  only 
thirty-six  for  their  pica  when  new.  Your  nail-heads  are 
worth  nothing  more  than  the  weight  of  the  iron,  ten 
sous  a  pound." 

"Do  you  call  such  letters  as  those  nail-heads?  wh}", 
they  were  made  b}'  Gille,  formei'h'  printer  to  the  Em- 
peror !  type  which  was  worth  six  francs  a  pound  ;  mas- 
terpieces of  the  art,  bought  five  years  ago,  and  still  as 
bright  as  the  day  they  were  cast.  See  here  I  "  and  old 
Sechard  caught  up  several  scoopsful  of  "  sorts  "  which 
had  never  been  used,  and  showed  them  to  his  son. 

"  I'm  not  learned,"  he  said,  "  I  can't  read  or  write, 
but  I  know  enough  to  make  a  guess  that  the  type  of 


14  Lost  Illusions. 

the  firm  of  Gille  were  the  patterns  used  b}'  jour  Didots 
and  3'our  Englishmen.  Here 's  a  ronde''  pointing  to  a 
case,  and  taking  out  an  M, —  ''a  ronde  of  pica  which 
has  never  yet  been  undone." 

David  saw  that  tliere  was  no  wa}'  of  discussing  the 
matter  with  his  father.  He  must  either  agree  to  all  or 
refuse  all.  He  was  held  to  a  yes  or  a  no.  The  old 
bear  had  put  everything  into  the  inventor}-,  even  to 
the  ropes  in  the  drying-room.  The  smallest  job-ease, 
wetting-board,  water-jug,  even  the  scrubbing-brushes, 
were  reckoned  into  the  account  with  the  minuteness  of 
a  miser.  The  total  was  thirty  thousand  francs  includ- 
ing the  license  of  the  master  and  the  good-will  of  the 
business.  David  asked  himself  whether  or  not  the 
matter  were  feasible. 

Seeing  that  his  son  was  silent  after  hearing  the 
amount  demanded,  old  Sechard  became  uneasj- ;  for  he 
much  preferred  a  violent  discussion  to  a  silent  accep- 
tance. In  such  dealings  as  these  a  discussion  is  the 
test  of  a  business  man  who  is  able  to  hold  his  own. 
''  He  who  demurs  to  everything,"  old  Sechard  was 
wont  to  say,  "  pays  nothing."  While  watching  the 
mind  of  his  son,  he  ran  over  the  list  of  his  wretched 
utensils,  and  showed  David  a  press  for  glazing,  and 
another  for  trimming  edges,  boasting  of  their  long 
usage  and  solidit}'. 

*'  Old  tools  are  always  the  best,"  he  said.  '^  In  the 
printing  busi4iess  they  ought  to  bring  more  than  new 
ones,  just  as  they  do  in  the  gold-beater's  trade." 

Horrible  vignettes  representing  Hymen,  or  Cupid,  or 
the  dead  raising  the  stones  of  their  sepulchres  and  funn- 
ing huge  V's  and  M's,  and  enormous  masked  frames  for 


Lost  Illusions.  15 

•theatrical  posters  became,  under  the  vinous  eloquence  of 
Jerome-Nicolas,  items  of  immense  value.  He  told  his 
son  that  the  habits  of  provincials  were  so  deeply  rooted 
that  he  might  tr}'  in  vain  to  give  his  clients  better  things. 
He,  Jerome-Xicolas  Sechard,  had  endeavored  to  sell 
better  almanacs  than  the  '*  Double  Liegeois,"  which 
was  printed  on  the  commonest  paper!  Well,  that  old 
Li?geois  was  preferred,  actually  preferred,  to  his  mag- 
nificent almanacs  !  David,  he  knew,  would  soon  find 
out  the  importance  of  old  things,  which  would  always 
sell  for  more  than  new-fangled  ones. 

"  Remember  this,  m}*  lad,  the  provinces  are  the  prov- 
inces, and  Paris  is  Paris.  If  a  man  from  I'Houmeau 
were  to  come  to  you  for  his  marriage  notice,  and  you 
printed  it  without  a  Cupid  and  garlands,  he  would  n't 
think  himself  married  ;  I  tell  you,  he  'd  send  it  back 
if  you  printed  him  the  sort  of  thing  they  do  at  3-our 
Didots,  who  may  be  an  honor  to  typograph}*,  but  whose 
inventions  won't  be  adopted  in  the  provinces  for  the 
next  hundred  years,  so  there  now  !  " 

Generous  souls  are  defective  in  business  faculty. 
David  had  one  of  those  modest,  tender  natures  which 
dread  argument  and  yield  to  their  opponent  the  moment 
he  touches  their  heart.  His  own  noble  feelings,  and  the 
sway  the  old  drunkard  had  always  held  over  him,  made 
him  still  more  unfit  to  hold  his  own  in  a  money  discus- 
sion with  his  father,  more  especially  as  he  thought  him 
actuated  b}'  good  intentions  :  for  he  honestly  attributed 
the  old  printer's  voracity  of  self-interest  to  a  genuine 
love  of  his  tools.  However,  as  Jerome  Sechard  had 
bought  the  whole  establishment  originally  for  ten  thou- 
sand francs  in  assign ats.  and  the  price  he    now  asked 


10  Lout  lUiiaions. 

was  exorbitant,  David  did  exclaim  with  some  vehe- 
mence, ''  F'ather,  you  will  ruin  me  !  " 

"  I,  who  gave  you  life  !  "  said  the  old  drunkard,  with 
a  wave  of  his  hand  to  the  drying  lines.  "  Why,  David, 
3'ou  don't  consider  the  value  of  the  business.  Do  you 
know  what  the  Journal  brings  in  for  advertisements  at 
ten  sous  a  line?  five  hundred  francs  for  the  last  month  ! 
Open  those  books,  my  lad,  and  see  for  yourself  what 
the  advertisements  and  police  notes  and  the  custom  we 
get  from  the  ma3'or's  office  and  the  bishopric  bi'ing 
in.  You  're  a  soft  one  who  can't  see  your  way  to  for- 
tune ;  you  want  to  cheapen  the  horse  that  is  going  to 
take  3^ou  there." 

A  deed  of  partnership  was  annexed  to  the  inventory. 
B3'  it  the  worthy  fatlier  leased  his  house  to  the  buyer 
for  twelve  hundred  francs  a  3'ear  (though  he  liad  only 
paid  five  thousand  for  it),  reserving  to  himself  the  use 
of  a  chamber  in  the  attic.  Until  the  time  when  David 
should  have  paid  the  thirty  thousand  francs  in  full,  the 
profits  were  to  be  divided;  but  after  the  said  i)ayuK'nt 
to  his  father  he  was  to  be  sole  proprietor  of  the  estab- 
lishment. David  took  into  consideration  the  license, 
the  good-will  of  the  business,  and  the  custom  of  the 
Journal,  disregarding  the  apparatus.  He  thought  he 
could  clear  himself,  and  so  thinking  accepted  Ins 
father's  proposal.  The  old  man,  used  to  the  crafty 
dealings  of  the  peasantry,  and  ignorant  of  the  broatlcr 
business  views  of  the  Parisians,  was  amazed  at  such 
prompt  decision. 

"  Can  my  son  have  made  money?"  he  thought;  "or 
has  he  some  scheme  for  not  paying  me?" 

With  that  suspicion  in  his  head  he  questioned  David 


Lo^t  Jllusious.  17 

to  find  out  if  he  had  mone}'  with  him,  in  order  to  take 
it  on  account.  The  father's  inquisitiveness  roused  the 
son's  distrust.     David  bottled  up  his  thoughts. 

The  next  day  old  Sechard  made  an  apprentice  move 
all  the  furniture  of  the  house  to  a  room  in  the  attic, 
from  which  he  intended  to  remove  it  to  his  country' 
place  on  the  first  opportunity  of  a  wagon  returning 
empty.  He  gave  up  the  three  rooms  on  the  first  floor 
(left  bare  of  everything)  to  his  son,  and  put  him  in 
possession  of  the  printing-office  without  advancing  him 
one  penny  with  which  to  pay  the  workmen.  AVhen 
David  begged  his  father  as  a  partner  in  the  concern  to 
pay  his  share  towards  carrying  on  their  mutual  enter- 
prise, the  old  man  turned  a  deaf  ear.  He  was  not 
obliged,  he  said,  to  give  money  as  well  as  property  ; 
besides,  all  he  had  was  invested.  Urged  by  his  son,  he 
declared  that  when  he  bought  the  establishment  origi- 
nall}'  he  had  not  a  sou  to  carry  it  on  ;  if  he,  a  poor 
workman  without  friends,  had  succeeded,  surely  a  pupil 
of  the  Didots  could  do  as  well.  Besides,  David  had 
earned  money  through  his  education  which  the  sweat  of 
his  father's  brow  had  given  him,  and  he  ought  to  use 
that  mone}'  now. 

"What  have  3'ou  done  with  3-our  earnings?'*  he 
asked,  returning  to  the  charge,  determined  to  clear  up 
the  problem  which  his  son's  silence  had  left  in  doubt 
the  night  before. 

"I  had  to  support  myself,  and  I  had  to  buy  books," 
replied  David,  indignantly. 

"  Bu}'  books,  indeed!  Ha!  you'll  never  do  well. 
People  who  buy  books  are  not  fit  to  be  printers,"  cried 
the  old  bear. 

2 


18  Lost  Illusions, 

David  endured  the  worst  of  all  humiliations  —  that 
of  a  father's  degradation.  He  was  forced  to  listen  to  a 
flux  of  reasons,  villanous,  whining,  meanh'  commercial, 
and  cowardly,  with  which  the  old  miser  supported  his 
refusal.  The  poor  lad  smothered  his  pain,  conscious 
that  he  was  alone,  without  resource,  in  presence  of  a 
schemer  instead  of  a  father,  whom  he  now  determined, 
parti}'  out  of  philosophical  curiosity,  to  understand  thor- 
oughly'. He  pointed  out  to  the  old  man  that  he  had 
never  v'et  asked  him  to  account  for  his  mother's  fortune. 
If  that  fortune  were  not  to  enter  as  part  compensation 
for  the  price  of  the  printing-office,  it  ought  at  least  to 
be  used  in  carrying  on  the  partnership. 

'^  Your  mother's  fortune  !  "  cried  old  Se'chard  ;  '•  win', 
she  had  nothing  but  her  beauty  and  her  cleverness." 

That  answer  revealed  him  to  his  son  without  disguise. 
David  saw  plainly  that  to  obtain  his  rights  he  would 
have  to  enter  upon  an  interminable,  costly,  and  discred- 
itable lawsuit.  His  noble  heart  accepted  the  burden 
laid  upon  him,  conscious  in  advance  of  the  struggle 
involved  in  fulfilling  the  engagements  he  had  made  with 
his  father. 

''  I  will  work,"  he  thought.  ''  After  all,  if  it  is  hard 
for  me,  it  was  once  hard  for  him.  It  will  be  working 
for  myself,  anyway." 

*'  I  shall  leave  30U  a  treasure,''  remarked  the  father, 
uneas}'  at  his  son's  silence. 

David  asked  what  it  was. 

''Marion,"  replied  the  old  man. 

Marion  was  a  stout  peasant- woman,  who  was  quite 
indispensable  to  the  working  of  the  printing-office.  She 
damped  the  paper  and  trimmed  it,  did  the  errands  and 


Lost  lUiistonfi.  19 

the  cooking,  washed  the  linen,  unloaded  the  bales  of 
paper  from  the  wagons,  collected  the  bills,  and  cleaned 
the  pads.  If  Marion  had  known  how  to  read,  old 
Sechard  would  have  made  her  work  as  a  compositor. 

The  old  man  started  on  foot  for  his  country  home. 
Though  pleased  with  the  sale  (disguised  under  the 
name  of  partnership),  he  felt  uneas}'  about  the  pa}-- 
ment.  After  the  agonies  of  a  sale  come  those  of  se- 
curing payment.  All  passions  are  essentially  Jesuitical. 
Tliis  old  man,  who  considered  education  useless,  en- 
deavored to  believe  in  the  influence  of  education.  Pie 
relied  for  the  payment  of  his  thirty  thousand  francs  on 
the  ideas  of  honor  which  education  ought  to  have  de- 
veloped in  his  son.  Well  trained  as  he  was,  David 
would  surely  sweat  blood  and  water  to  pay  his  debts  ; 
the  knowledge  he  had  acquired  would  give  him  re- 
sources;  he  seemed  to  show  fine  feelings  —  yes,  he 
would  pa}' !  Many  fathers,  acting  as  old  Sechard  did, 
would  have  felt  they  had  done  then-  fatherly  duty  ;  and 
b}'  the  time  the  old  man  reached  his  vineyard  at  Mar- 
sac,  a  little  village  twelve  miles  from  Angouleme,  he 
was  persuaded  he  had  done  his.  This  domain,  on 
which  the  preceding  owner  had  built  a  pretty  house, 
had  increased  in  size  since  the  old  bear  purchased  it 
in  1809. 

During  the  first  j'ear  of  his  life  in  the  country'  old 
Sechard's  face  looked  anxious  among  his  vine- poles  ; 
for  he  was  always  in  his  vineyard,  as  he  had  formerly 
been  always  in  his  press-room.  The  thirt}'  thousand 
expected  francs  excited  him  even  more  than  the  Sep- 
tember harvest :  he  dreamed  of  fingering  thcra.  The 
less  the  money  was  really  due,  the  more  he  longed  to 


20  Lout  Illusions. 

get  it  safely  in  his  strong-box.  His  uneasiness  on  the 
subject  often  took  him  to  Angouleme  ;  he  climbed  the 
steep  slopes  of  the  rocky  ground  on  which  the  town  is 
built,  to  reach  the  printing-house,  and  watch  how  his 
son  was  manao^ing  the  business.  After  dining  with 
David,  he  would  make  his  wa3'  back  to  Marsac,  rumi- 
nating over  his  fears. 

Avarice,  like  love,  has  the  gift  of  second  sight  for 
future  contingencies;  it  scents  them,  it  surmises  them. 
The  old  man  fancied  he  saw  in  his  son  disquieting 
symptoms  of  lethargy.  The  name  of  "  Cointet  Bros." 
alarmed  him  ;  he  foresaw  it  rising  above  that  of  ''  Se- 
chard  and  Son."  He  felt  the  wind  of  ill- fortune.  And 
he  was  right ;  trouble  was,  indeed,  hovering  over  the 
firm  of  Sechard.  But  misers  have  a  god  of  their  own  ; 
and  this  god,  by  a  combination  of  unforeseen  circum- 
stances, was  destined  to  slip  into  the  drunkard's  pouch 
the  price  of  his  usurious  sale. 

The  reasons  why  the  Sechard  printing-house  was 
about  to  fall  were  as  follows :  David  was  indifferent 
to  the  religious  reaction  which  the  Restoration  pro- 
duced in  the  government  of  the  country,  and  he  was 
also  indifferent  to  liberalism;  consequently,  he  main- 
tained a  neutralit}'  most  injurious  to  his  interests  in  all 
matters  political  or  religious.  He  entered  business  at  a 
time  when  provincial  business  men  were  forced  to  have 
opinions  in  order  to  win  customers,  and  it  was  neces- 
sary to  choose  between  the  liberal  custom  and  the 
royalist  custom.  In  David's  case,  a  love  which  had 
entered  his  heart,  his  scientific  proclivities,  and  iiis 
noble  nature  kept  him  from  that  eagerness  after  gain 
which  characlcnzes  the  true  business  man,  and  which 


Lost  Illusions.  21 

jnight  otherwise  have  led  him  to  study  the  difforonce 
between  provincial  industries  and  those  of  Paris.  The 
clear-cut  lines  of  the  departments  disappear  in  the 
whirl    of  the    great   cit}-. 

The  brothers  Cointet  had  chosen  the  monarchical 
side  ;  they  kept  all  fasts  ostentatiousl}' ;  lingered  in  the 
cathedral ;  cultivated  the  priests  ;  and  brought  out  new- 
editions  of  pious  books  the  moment  the  want  of  them 
was  felt.  Thus  they  caught  the  lucrative  trade  on  this 
line  from  the  first,  while  David  was  unjustly  accused  of 
liberalism  and  atheism.  ''  Wliy  employ,"  the}'  said, 
'.'  a  man  whose  father  was  a  revolutionist,  a  drunkard, 
a  Bonapartist,  and  above  all  an  old  miser,  who  will 
leave  behind  him  heaps  of  gold  ?  They  were  poor  and 
had  families  to  support,  while  David  was  a  bachelor 
and  certain  to  be  rich."  Influenced  h\  such  arguments, 
the  prefecture  and  the  bishopric  gave  their  printing  to 
the  Cointets.  Before  long  these  eager  competitors, 
emboldened  by  David's  indifference,  set  up  an  adver- 
tising journal  of  their  own.  The  Sechard  profits  were 
reduced  to  less  than  one  half.  Before  long  the  Coin- 
tets, who  were  making  monev,  proposed  to  buy  out  the 
other  journal,  and  thus  obtain  control  of  all  advertise- 
ments and  legal  notices.  When  David  transmitted  this 
proposal  to  his  father,  the  old  man,  already  frightened 
by  the  success  of  the  Cointets,  hurried  from  Marsac  to 
the  printing-office  with  the  haste  of  a  buzzard  scenting 
bodies  on  a  l)attle-field. 

"  Let  me  manage  those  Cointets.  Don't  you  meddle 
in  this  business,*'  he  said  to  his  son. 

The  old  man  began  b}'  asking  the  Cointets  sixt}' 
thousand  francs  to  protect  his  son  ;  he  loved  his  son 


22  Lost  Illusions, 

and  meant  to  defend  him.  The  old  fellow  used  his  son 
as  the  peasants  use  their  wives  ;  he  declared  him  to  be 
wilUng  or  unwilling  to  agree  to  the  proposals  which  he 
wrung,  little  b}'  little,  from  the  Cointets.  Finall}^,  he 
led  them,  not  without  difficulty,  to  pay  a  sum  of  twenty- 
two  thousand  francs  for  the  old  journal,  but  this  w^as 
coupled  with  the  condition  that  David  must  engage 
never  to  print  an}'  other  journal  under  a  penalty  of 
thirty  thousand  francs  damages.  This  sale  and  agree- 
ment was  the  suicide  of  the  Sechard  printing-house ; 
but  the  old  bear  was  indifferent  to  that.  After  theft 
comes  murder.  He  took  the  sura  thus  gained  in  part 
payment  of  his  sale  to  David  ;  to  finger  that  mone}'  he 
would  have  thrown  David  himself  into  the  bargain,  — 
all  the  more  because  his  irksome  son  had  a  right  to  half 
this  indemnity.  To  make  things  right,  as  he  said,  the 
generous  father  gave  up  all  claims  on  the  printing-office, 
but  demanded  the  rent  of  the  building  at  the  old  price 
of  twelve  hundred  francs. 

The  indifference  of  David  Sechard  had  certain  under- 
lying causes  which  will  help  us  to  exhibit  the  nature  of 
this  3'oung  man.  A  few  days  after  his  installation  at  the 
printing-office  he  met  a  college  friend  who  was  then  in 
the  depths  of  poverty.  This  was  a  youth  about  twent}'- 
one  3'ears  of  age,  named  Lucien  Chardon,  the  son  of  a 
former  surgeon  in  the  Republican  army.  Nature  had 
made  a  chemist  of  the  father,  and  fate  had  settled  him 
as  apothecary  at  Angouleme.  Death  overtook  him  in 
the  midst  of  preparations  to  put  to  use  a  lucrative  dis- 
covery on  which  he  had  spent  years  of  scientific  re- 
search. He  wished  to  cure  all  kinds  of  gout.  Gout  is 
a  malady  of  the  rich,  and  the  rich  will   pa}'  dear  for 


Lost  Illusions.  j  23 

health  wlien  they  lose  it ;  for  which  reason  the  chemist 
had  cliosen  this  problem  from  among  the  many  his 
meditations  had  led  him  to  consider.  Forced  to  choose 
between  science  and  qnackery,  the  late  Chardon  had 
seen  plainl}'  that  science  only  would  make  his  fortune. 
He  therefore  studied  the  malady  and  based  his  remedy 
on  a  certain  regime  regulated  to  each  patient's  tempera- 
ment. He  died  in  Paris  while  soliciting  the  approval 
of  the  Academy  of  Sciences,  and  the  fruit  of  his  toil  was 
lost.  He  not  only  left  his  family  in  povert}-,  but  he 
had,  unfortunately,  brought  them  up  to  expect  a  bril- 
liant future,  which  ended  with  his  life.  The  mainspring 
of  his  ambition  was  his  passionate  love  for  his  wife,  a 
last  scion  of  the  noble  family'  of  de  Ruberapre,  whom  he 
had,  almost  miraculoush',  saved  from  the  scaffold  in 
1793.  Without  her  consent,  he  had  postponed  her 
execution  b}'  declaring  her  enceinte.  Having  thus  as 
it  were  created  a  sort  of  right  to  make  her  his  wife,  he 
married  her  in  spite  of  their  mutual  poverty.  Tlxeir 
children,  like  all  the  children  of  true  love,  inherited  the 
marvellous  beaut}'  of  their  mother,  a  gift  that  is  often 
fatal  when  poverty  accompanies  it.  The  poor  widow 
sold  the  business,  the  price  of  which  brought  her  in 
three  hundred  francs  a  year,  a  sum  insufficient  to  sup- 
port herself  and  her  children.  But  she  and  her  daughter 
accepted  their  position  withont  a  blush,  and  did  such 
work  as  they  could  find.  The  mother  nursed  women 
in  childbirth,  and  her  careful  method  soon  took  her  into 
families  where  she  was  able  to  earn  a  franc  a  da}'  be- 
sides her  food.  To  avoid  mortifying  her  son  by  letting 
it  be  known  that  his  mother  was  employed  in  such 
menial  work,  she  had  taken  the  name  of  Madame  Char- 


24  Lost  Illusions, 

lotte,  and  persons  who  needed  lier  left  their  orders  with 
Monsieur  Postel,  her  husband's  successor. 

Lucien's  sister,  Eve  Chardon,  worked  for  a  very 
worthy  woman,  Madame  Prieui',  a  getter-up  of  fine 
linen,  where  tlie  girl  earned  fifteen  sous  a  day.  She 
managed  the  washerwomen  and  held  a  superior  position 
among  them,  which  raised  her  a  little  from  the  level  of 
a  grisette.  The  slender  profits  of  their  labor,  added  to 
Madame  Chardon's  little  income,  amounted  to  eight 
hundred  francs  a  A'ear,  on  which  these  three  persons 
had  to  feed  and  lodge  and  clothe  themselves  ;  and  3'et 
the  greater  part  of  this  sum  was  absorbed  b}'  Lucien. 
Madame  Chardon  and  Eve  believed  in  Lucien  as  the 
wife  of  Mohammed  believed  in  her  husband :  their  de- 
votion to  his  future  was  boundless.  This  poor  family 
lived  in  the  suburb  of  ITIoumeau,  in  the  house  of  IMon- 
sieur  Postel,  Lucien  occupying  a  garret  room.  Stimu- 
lated by  his  father,  who  had  a  passion  for  the  natural 
sciences,  Lucien  was  one  of  the  most  brilHant  scholars 
in  the  college  at  Angouleme,  where  he  happened  to 
be  in  the  tliird  class  during  the  last  year  of  David 
Sechard's  course. 

When  fate  again  brought  these  comrades  together, 
Lucien,  weary  of  the  vulgar  cup  of  poverty,  was  on  the 
point  of  taking  one  of  tliose  desperate  steps  which  a 
youth  of  twenty  sometimes  resolves  upon.  Forty  francs 
a  montli  generously  offered  by  David  wiio  proposed  to 
take  him  as  foreman  and  teach  him  his  duties  (though 
a  foreman  was  quite  unneeded  by  him)  saved  Lucien 
from  despair.  Tii(>  ties  of  tliis  college  fricMidshij)  thus 
renewed  were  soon  drawn  closer  by  the  similnrity  of 
their  fate  and  the  dilference  of  their  natures.     Both  of 


Lost  lUuHions.  25 

them,  triiined  b}'  vicissitudes,  possessed  that  superior 
intelligence  which  puts  a  man  on  the  level  of  all  heights, 
and  yet  they  were  each  flung  by  fate  to  the  lower  depths 
of  societ}'.  This  injustice  in  their  destin}-  was  a  power- 
ful bond.  Moreover  the}'  had  both  attained  to  the 
poetic  spirit,  though  by  different  ascents.  Lucien  had 
been  destined  by  his  father  to  the  speculations  of  natu- 
ral science,  but  he  himself  longed  ardently  for  literar}- 
fame ;  whereas  David,  whose  reflective  nature  predis- 
posed him  to  poes}',  inclined  b}'  taste  to  the  exact 
sciences.  This  interchange  of  parts  led  to  a  sort  of 
spiritual  brotherhood.  Lucien  communicated  to  David 
the  grand  ideas  he  had  derived  from  his  father  as  to 
the  application  of  science  to  industrv,  and  David  taught 
Lucien  to  understand  the  new  wa3's  in  which  to  enter 
literature  and  make  both  fame  and  fortune.  The  friend- 
ship of  these  3'oung  men  became  before  long  one  of 
those  passions  which  come  to  men  onh'  as  they  issue 
from  adolescence. 

Soon  after  their  meeting  David  saw  Eve  and  loved 
her,  as  melancholy  and  meditative  souls  do  love  a 
woman.  The  et  mmc  et  semper  et  in  secida  seculormn 
of  tlie  liturgy  is  the  motto  of  the  sublime  but  unfamed 
poets  whose  works  are  glorious  epics,  born  and  buried 
within  two  hearts.  When  this  lover  had  perceived  the 
secret  hopes  which  mother  and  sister  placed  upon  the 
beautiful  brow  of  their  idol,  when  their  blind  devotion 
became  known  to  him,  he  took  delight  in  drawing 
nearer  to  his  mistress  by  sharing  her  hopes  and  sacri- 
fices. Lucien  was  to  David  the  chosen  brother  of  his 
heart.  Like  the  ultras  who  desire  to  be  more  royalist 
than  ro3'alty  itself,  David  exaggerated  the  faith  which 


26  Lost  Illusions. 

the  mother  and  sister  felt  in  Lucien's  genius  ;  he  spoilt 
him  as  a  mother  spoils  a  child.  During  one  of  the  con- 
versations, in  which,  harassed  b}-  the  want  of  mone}^ 
which  tied  their  hands,  they  discussed,  like  all  3'oung 
men,  the  chances  of  making  their  fortune  quickly  by 
shaking  the  trees  already  despoiled  of  fruit  b}'  the  first- 
comers,  Lucien  bethought  himself  of  two  ideas  which 
emanated  from  his  father.  Monsieur  Chardon  had  on 
one  occasion  spoken  of  reducing  the  cost  of  sugar  b}^ 
the  use  of  some  novel  chemical  agent,  and  also  of  di- 
minishing the  price  of  paper  b}-  importing  certain  vege- 
table products  from  America  analagous  to  those  used 
in  China,  the  cost  of  which  would  be  very  small.  David, 
who  knew  the  importance  of  the  latter  question,  which 
had  been  much  discussed  at  the  Didots,  seized  upon  the 
idea,  believing  he  saw  a  fortune  in  it,  and  he  henceforth 
regarded  Lucien  as  a  benefactor  for  whom  he  could 
never  do  enough. 

It  is  easy  to  see  how  such  inner  lives  and  leading 
ideas  unfitted  these  young  men  to  manage  a  printing- 
office.  Far  from  bringing  in  from  fifteen  to  twenty 
thousand  francs,  like  that  of  the  Coiutets,  the  establish- 
ment of  Sechard  Son  yielded  a  profit  of  scarcely*  three 
hundred  francs  a  month,  out  of  which  the  salar}^  of  tlie 
foreman,  the  wages  of  Marion  and  the  workmen,  taxes, 
and  rent  were  all  to  be  paid,  leaving  David  less  tiian  a 
hundred  francs  a  month  on  wliich  to  live.  Active  and 
industrious  men  would  have  bought  new  type,  and 
changed  their  wooden  presses  for  iron  ones  ;  but  master 
and  foreman,  lost  in  absorbing  mental  occupations, 
contented  themselves  witli  jirinting  tlie  work  their  few 
remainuiji  customers  brought  to  tliem.     The  Cointets 


Lost  Illusions.  27 

had  fathomed  David's  character  and  ha1)its  and  no 
longer  attacked  him  ;  on  the  contrary,  a  wise  policy  led 
them  to  encourage  the  feeble  existence  of  the  establish- 
ment and  help  its  honest  mediocrit}',  lest  it  might  fall 
into  the  hands  of  some  formidable  antagonist ;  they 
even  sent  it  some  local  work. 

Thus,  without  being  aware  of  it,  David  Sechard  only 
existed,  commercially  speaking,  by  the  shrewd  calcu- 
lation of  his  competitors.  Delighted  with  what  they 
considered  his  idioc}',  the  Cointets  treated  him,  to  all 
appearance,  honestl}'  and  loyally  ;  in  reality  the}'  were 
acting  like  the  Messageries  Royales  when  they  set  up  a 
sham  rival  coach  to  avoid  a  real  one. 


28  Lost  Illusions. 


11. 

MADAME    DE   BARGETON. 

The  exterior  of  the  Secliard  establishment  was  in 
keeping  with  the  crass  meanness  of  its  interior,  where 
the  old  bear  made  no  repau'S.  Rain  and  sun  and  the 
inclemency'  of  all  the  seasons  had  furrowed  the  door 
on  the  alley  with  uneven  cracks  till  it  looked  like  the 
trunk  of  an  old  tree.  The  front  of  the  building,  badly 
constructed  of  stone  and  brick,  ])ut  together  without 
S3'mmetr3^,  seemed  to  bend  beneatli  the  weight  of  a 
mould}'  roof  covered  with  those  hollow  tiles  which  are 
used  for  all  the  roofs  of  Southern  France.  To  the 
rotten  window-casings  were  fastened  the  enormous 
shutters,  held  b}'  transverse  bars,  -which  the  heat  of 
that  climate  requires.  It  would  have  been  hard  to  find 
in  all  Angouleme  as  cracked  a  building ;  it  was  held 
together  solely  b}^  cement.  Imagine  the  press-room, 
lighted  at  both  ends  and  dark  in  the  middle,  the  walls 
(covered  witli  posters)  blackened  at'  the  bottom  by  the 
rubbing  of  man}'  workmen  for  the  last  thirty  years  ;  an 
apparatus  of  ropes  overhead,  piles  of  paper,  tlic  old 
presses,  heaps  of  cobblestones  to  weight  the  dampened 
sheets,  lines  of  cases,  and,  at  the  farther  end,  the  cages 
or  offices  in  which  the  master  and  foreman  sat ;  imagine 
all  this  and  you  will  get  an  idea  of  the  daily  life  of  the 
two  friends. 


Lost  Illusions,  29 

Early  in  May,  1821,  David  and  Lucien  were  near 
tlie  window  looking  on  the  courtyard  about  two  in  the 
afternoon,  just  as  their  four  or  five  workmen  left  the 
pressroom  to  go  to  dinner.  When  the  master  saw 
the  apprentice  close  the  door  which  opened  on  the 
street  he  carried  Lucien  off  into  the  courtyard,  as  if 
the  very  smell  of  the  papers,  inkpots,  presses,  and  old 
wood  was  intolerable  to  him.  The\'  both  sat  down 
under  an  arbor  from  which  the}'  could  see  if  an}*  one 
entered  the  pressroom.  The  sunlight,  which  was  danc- 
ing among  the  vine-shoots,  played  on  their  heads  and 
circled  them  as  it  were  with  a  halo.  The  contrast  of 
the  two  natures  and  the  two  faces  was  so  vigorously 
brought  out  that  a  painter  would  have  yielded  to  the 
seduction.  David  had  the  frame  that  Nature  gives  to 
those  who  are  destined  for  great  struggles,  whether 
secret  or  illustrious.  His  stalwart  chest  was  flanked 
with  strong  shoulders  in  keeping  with  the  amplitude  of 
his  whole  figure.  His  face,  bronzed  in  tone,  high- 
colored,  fat,  borne  on  a  stout  neck  and  topped  with  a 
thicket  of  black  hair,  seemed  at  first  sight  like  those  of 
Boileau's  friars  ;  but  a  closer  examination  would  have 
shown  3'ou  in  the  curves  of  the  thick  lips,  in  the  dimple 
of  the  chin,  in  the  cut  of  the  square  nose  cleft  at  the 
point,  but  above -all  in  the  eyes,  the  undying  fire  of  a 
single  love,  the  sagacity  of  a  thinker,  the  ardent  melan- 
choly of  a  soul  which  could  see  both  extremities  of  the 
horizon  and  penetrate  all  labyrinths,  — a  soul  that  soon 
palled  of  ideal  enjoyments,  bringing  the  lights  of  analy- 
sis to  bear  upon  them.  If  the  flashes  of  aspiring  genius 
were  to  be  seen  in  that  face,  the  ashes  of  a  volcano 
were  there  also  ;  hope  was  submerged  beneath  a  deep 


30  Lost  Illusions. 

consciousness  of  the  social  nothingness  to  -which  a 
lowly  birth  and  want  of  means  condemn  so  man}'  su- 
perior natures. 

Beside  the  poor  printer,  whose  trade,  although  so 
closely  allied  to  intellect,  was  nauseating  to  him,  beside 
this  Silenus,  heavily  withdrawn  within  himself  and 
drinking  long  draughts  of  science  and  poesy  in  order  to 
forget  in  such  intoxication  the  miseries  of  his  narrow 
sphere,  Lucien  was  sitting  in  the  graceful  attitude  w^hich 
sculptors  bestow  upon  their  Indian  Bacchus.  His  face 
had  the  clear-cut  lines  of  antique  beauty  ;  the  foreliead 
and  ^nose  were  Greek,  the  skin  of  a  dew}-  whiteness 
like  a  woman's  ;  his  eyes  were  so  deep  a  blue  that  they 
seemed  black,  —  eyes  full  of  love,  the  balls  of  which 
were  pure  and  fresh  as  those  of  childhood.  These 
beautiful  eyes  were  surmounted  b}'  brows  that  were 
surel}'  traced  In'  a  Chinese  pencil  and  fringed  with 
lashes  that  were  long  and  dark.  On  his  cheeks  lay  a 
silken  down  which  matched  in  color  the  fair  hair  curl- 
ing naturalh'.  A  divine  suavit}'  was  on  that  brow  of  a 
golden  white.  Inborn  nobilit}-  was  depicted  by  a  chin 
that  was  short  and  raised,  but  without  assumption.  The 
smile  of  a  saddened  angel  flickered  on  his  coral  lips 
and  showed  the  contrast  of  his  beautiful  teeth.  He 
had  the  hands  of  a  man  of  birth,  —  elegant  hands, 
which  men  obey  and  women  love  to  kiss.  Lucien  was 
slender  and  of  middle  height.  On  seeing  his  feet  a 
man  might  have  thought  him  a  girl  in  disguise,  all  the 
more  because  like  many  subtle,  not  to  say  tricky  men, 
his  hips  were  formed  like  those  of  a  woman.  That  in- 
dication, which  is  seldom  misleading,  was  verified  in 
Lucien  ;  thp  tendency  of  whose  restless  mind  often  led 


Lost  Illusions.  31 

him,  when  analyzing  the  actual  condition  of  societ\',  to 
the  immoral  ground  of  diplomatists  who  believe  that  all 
means,  however  shameful,  are  justified  bj^  success.  One 
of  the  trials  to  which  great  intellects  are  subjected  is  to 
be  forced  to  know  all  things,  evil  as  well  as  good,  vice 
as  well  as  virtue. 

These  two  3'oung  men  judged  society  the  more  loftily 
because  their  own  position  was  so  low ;  for  those  who 
are  neglected  and  unknown  counterbalance  their  hu- 
miliation bv  the  height  of  their  stand-point.  But  their 
despair  was  all  the  more  bitter  because  they  felt  them- 
selves going  rapidly  ni  the  direction  of  their  actual 
destiny.  Lucien  had  read  much  and  compared  much  ; 
David  had  thought  much  and  meditated  deeply.  Not- 
withstanding his  appearance  of  robust  health,  the  bent 
of  the  printer's  nature  was  melancholy  and  even  mor- 
bid ;  he  doubted  himself.  AVhereas  Lucien,  gifted 
with  an  enterprising,  restless  spirit,  had  an  audacity 
■which  was  out  of  keeping  with  his  soft,  almost  feeble 
physique  and  tender  feminine  graces.  Lucien's  nature 
was  in  the  highest  degree  gascon,  —  bold,  brave,  and 
adventurous ;  a  nature  which  magnifies  good  and 
glosses  evil ;  which  recoils  from  no  wrong-doing  if 
there  is  profit  in  it,  and  laughs  at  vice  while  making  it 
a  stepping-stone.  Such  ambitious  tendencies  were  at 
the  present  time  repressed  in  Lucien  b}-  the  beautiful 
illusions  of  youth,  by  the  ardent  impulses  which  led  him 
to  noble  means,  such  as  all  ambitious  men  amorous  of 
fame,  seek  first.  He  was,  as  yet,  only  grappling  with 
his  desires,  and  not  with  the  difficulties  of  life  ;  with  his 
own  forces,  not  with  the  baseness  of  other  men  —  which 
sets  a  fatal  example  to  impulsive  spirits. 


32  Lo8t  Illusio7i8. 

David,  keenl}'  fascinated  b}- the  brillianc}' of  Lucien's 
mind,  admired  him,  and  at  the  same  time  corrected  some 
of  the  errors  into  which  t\\Q  furle  fran^aise  flung  him. 
Upright  as  he  was,  Sechard's  character  was  timid  and 
out  of  keeping  with  his  powerful  frame.  He  was  not, 
however,  devoid  of  the  stead}'  persistence  of  a  Northern 
man.  If  he  foresaw  all  difficulties  he  at  least  resolved 
on  mastering  them  without  giving  wa}' ;  and  though  in 
this  respect  his  virtue  had  a  firmness  that  was  truly 
apostolic,  he  tempered  it  with  the  mercT  of  inexhausti- 
ble indulgence.  In  this  friendship,  which  seemed  al- 
read}'  old,  David  was  the  one  who  loved  with  idolatrv  ; 
Lucien  ruled  him  like  a  woman  who  feels  herself  be- 
loved. David  obeyed  with  delight.  The  physical 
beaut}'  of  his  friend  carried  with  it  to  liis  mind  a  su- 
periority which  he  accepted,  recognizing  his  own  per- 
sonality to  be  heavy  and  common. 

"Farming  for  the  patient  ox,  a  life  of  airy  freedom 
for  the  bird,"  thought  he.  "  I  will  be  the  ox,  Lucien 
shall  be  the  eagle." 

For  tlie  last  three  years  these  friends  had  mingled 
their  existence.  They  read  the  great  works  which  had 
appeared  on  the  literary  and  scientific  horizon  since  the 
Peace,  — the  works  of  Schiller,  Goethe,  Byron,  Walter 
Scott,  Jean -Paul,  Berzelius,  Davy,  Cuvier,  etc.  They 
heated  themselves  at  those  great  fires,  attempting  works, 
which  tliey  pursued,  abandoned,  and  again  took  up  with 
equal  ardor.  They  worked  continually  without  fatiguiug 
the  incxhaustihle  powers  of  youth.  Equally  poor,  yet 
passionately  in  love  with  art  and  science,  the}'  foigot 
their  present  misery  in  laying  the  foundations  for  their 
future  fame. 


LoHt  Illusions.  33 

**Lucien,  what  do  you  think  I  have  just  received 
from  Paris?"  said  David,  puUing  from  his  pocket  a 
little  18mo  volume.     "Listen!" 

And  David  read,  as  only  poets  read,  the  idyl  of 
Andre  Chenier,  entitled  "  Neere ; "  next  "La  Jeune 
Malade,"  and  then  the  elegy  on  suicide,  and  the  last 
two  iambics. 

"So  that's  Andre  Che'nier ! "  Lucien  kept  exclaim- 
ing. "  It  is  enough  to  make  one  despair,"  he  said  for 
the  third  time,  when  David,  too  agitated  to  read  on,  let 
him  take  the  volume.  "A  poet  rediscovered  by  a 
poet!"  said  Lucien,  noticing  the  signature  to  the 
preface  —  that   of  Henri   de    la   Touche. 

"After  producing  what  that  volume  contains,"  said 
David,  "Chenier  thought  he  had  written  nothing 
worthy   of  publication." 

Lucien  read  aloud  the  epic  fragment  of  the  "  Aveugle  " 
and  several  elegies.  When  he  chanced  upon  the 
line  — 

"  If  (hey  have  no  joy,  is  there  joy  upon  earth?  " 

he  laid  down  the  book,  and  the}"  both  wept,  for  each 
loved  to  idolatry-.  The  vine-leaves  glowed,  the  fissures 
of  the  old  stone  walls,  cracked,  battered,  and  split,  took 
to  their  eyes  the  semblance  of  carvings  and  mouldings 
and  bas-reliefs  of  some  unknown  or  fairy  architecture. 
Fancy  scattered  her  roses  and  her  rubies  into  the  dark 
little  court.  Andre  Chenier's  Camille  was  to  David  his 
adored  Eve,  and  to  Lucien  a  great  lady  with  whom  he 
was  in  love.  Poesy  had  swept  the  majestic  folds  of  her 
starry  robe  through  the  empt}'  press-room,  whither  the 
monkeys  and  the  bears  were   about   returning.     Five 

3 


34  Lost  Illusions. 

o'clock  struck ;  but  neither  Lucien  nor  David  was 
hungiy.  Tiie  golden  dream  was  their  life  ;  the  treas- 
ures of  earth  were  at  their  feet.  They  saw  the  glitter- 
ing spot  on  the  horizon  to  which  Hope  points,  as  her 
siren  voice  saA's  to  those  whose  life  is  troublous,  "  Fly 
thither !  you  shall  escape  your  miser}-  through  that 
little  space  of  gold,  of  silver,  or  of  azure."  Just  then 
a  young  apprentice,  a  Paris  gamin  whom  David  had 
brought  to  Angouleme,  opened  the  glass  door  which 
led  from  the  press-room  to  the  courtyard,  and  pointed 
out  the  two  friends  to  a  stranger  who  advanced  to  meet 
them,  bowing. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  said  to  David,  pulling  an  enormous 
manuscript  from  his  pocket,  ''here  is  a  pamphlet  which 
I  am  anxious  to  have  printed ;  will  you  please  estimate 
the  cost?" 

"Monsieur,  we  do  not  print  such  voluminous  manu- 
scripts," replied  David,  without  examinhig  the  package. 
"You  had  better  go  to  the  Messrs.  Cointet." 

"But  we  have  a  ver}-  pretty  type  which  would 
just  suit  it,"  remarked  Lucien,  taking  the  manuscript. 
"  Will  3-ou  have  the  kindness  to  leave  us  your  work 
for  an  estimate,  and  return  to-morrow?" 

"  Have  I  the  honor  of  speaking  to  Monsieur  Lucien 
Chardon?" 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Then  I  am  fortunate,"  said  the  author,  "  in  meeting 
a  young  poet  with  a  noble  destiny  before  liim.  I  am 
sent  here  by  Madame  de  Bargeton." 

Lucien  colored  at  the  name  and  stammered  a  few 
words  expressive  of  his  gratitude  for  the  interest  Ma- 
dame de  Bargeton  had  shown  in  him.     David  noticed 


Lo^t  Illusions.  35 

the  embarrassment  of  his  friend,  and  lie  left  him  alone 
with  the  country-gentleman,  whose  manuscript  was  a 
monograph  on  the  culture  of  silk-worms,  which  vanit}' 
had  prompted  the  writer  to  i)rint  that  it  might  be  read 
by  his  colleagues  in  the  Agricultural  Societ}'. 

"Lucien,"  said  David,  when  the  gentleman  had  de- 
parted, ''are  3'ou  in  love  with  Madame  de  Bargeton?" 

*'  Deeply." 

"But  you  are  more  separated  from  her  by  the  pre- 
judices of  social  life  than  if  she  were  at  Pekin  and  you 
in  Greenland." 

*'  The  will  of  lovers  can  triumph  over  everything," 
said  Lueien,  dropping  his  eyes. 

''  You  will  forget  us,"  said  Eve's  timid  lover. 

"  On  the  contrary-,  I  ma}'  have  sacrificed  my  mistress 
to  my  friendship  for  you,  David/"  cried  Lucieu. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"In  spite  of  my  love,  and  all  the  divers  interests 
which  urge  me  to  become  of  consequence  in  her  house, 
I  have  told  her  that  I  cannot  return  there  if  a  man 
whose  talents  are  superior  to  mine,  whose  future  ought 
to  be  glorious,  if  David  Sechard.  m}'  friend  and  brother, 
is  not  received  by  her.  I  shall  find  her  answer  when  I 
go  home.  But  though  she  has  invited  all  the  aristo- 
crats in  town  to  hear  me  read  my  verses  to-night,  I  am 
resolved  never  to  set  foot  in  Madame  de  Bargeton's 
house  again  if  the  answer  is  in  the  negative." 

David  pressed  his  friend's  hand  violently  and  wiped 
his  eyes.     Six  o'clock  struck. 

"  Eve  will  be  uneasy  ;  good-by,"  said  Lueien.  hastily. 

He  rushed  off,  leaving  David  in  the  grasp  of  one  of 
those  emotions  which  are  felt  in  all  their  completeness 


36  Lost  Illusions. 

at  his  age,  and  more  particular!}'  in  the  position  of 
these  J'oung  swans  whose  wings  were  as  yet  not  clipped 
hy  the  experiences  of  their  provincial  life. 

"  Heart  of  gold  !  "  cried  David,  following  Lucien  with 
his  ej'e  as  he  crossed  the  press-room. 

Lucien  made  his  wa^'  down  to  I'Houmeau  by  the 
beautiful  promenade  of  Beaulieu  and  the  Porte  Saint- 
Pierre.  If  he  took  the  longest  road  you  may  be  quite 
sure  that  Madame  de  Bargeton's  house  was  on  the 
way.  He  felt  such  pleasure  in  mereh^  passing  her  win- 
dows, even  without  her  knowing  it,  that  for  the  last 
two  months  he  had  dail}'  taken  that  circuitous  route. 

When  he  reached  the  trees  of  the  Avenue  Beaulieu 
he  stopped  and  contemplated  the  distance  between  An- 
gouleme  and  I'Houmeau.  The  manners  and  customs 
of  the  region  had  set  up  moral  barriers  between  the 
inhabitants  of  the  two  places  which  were  far  harder  to 
cross  than  the  flights  of  steps  wliich  Lucien  was  about 
to  descend.  The  ambitious  3'oung  fellow,  who  had 
lately  succeeded  ^in  entering  the  hotel  de  Barge  ton  on 
the  strength  of  a  poetic  fame  which  he  cast  like  a  draw- 
bridge between  the  town  and  its  suburb,  was,  in  truth, 
ver}'  uneasN'  about  his  mistress's  decision,  —  like  a  cour- 
tier who  fears  disgrace  for  having  attempted  to  extend 
his  power. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  explain  why  the  spirit  of  caste 
should  liave  great  influence  on  the  feelings  which  divide 
AngoulGme  from  the  suburb  of  I'lloumcau.  The  busi- 
ness communit}'  is  rich ;  the  nobiUty  is  mostl}'  poor. 
One  revenges  itself  upon  the  other  by  a  contempt  which 
is  equal  on  l)oth  sides.  The  bourgeoisie  of  AngoulCMne 
espouse   the   quarrel.     The  merchant  of  the  town  re- 


Lost  IlIi{,sions.  37 

marks  of  the  shop-keeper  of  the  suburb:  ''Oh!  he  is 
a  rilouiiieau  man."  The  Restoration  increased  the 
raoral  distance  between  the  suburb  and  the  town  hy 
hokling  out  hopes  to  the  nobilit}-  of  France  which  could  / 
be  realized  onl^'  by  a  general  overthrow.  The  aristo-^ 
cratic  societ}',  once  more  united  with  the  government, 
became  even  more  exckisive  in  Angouleme  than  in  other 
parts  of  France.  The  dwellers  in  I'Houmeau  were  made 
to  resemble  pariahs.  Thence  those  deep  and  secret  ha- 
treds which  gave  such  terrible  unanimity  to  the  insurrec- 
tion of  1830,  and  destroyed  the  elements  of  a  lasting 
social  order  in  France.  Tlie  haughty  pride  of  the  court 
nobilitv  alienated  the  loyalty'  of  the  provincial  nobility, 
just  as  the  latter  alienated  the  bourgeoisie  by  affronting 
all  its  vanities. 

That  a  man  from  I'Houmeau,  the  son  of  an  apothe- 
car}',  should  be  admitted  to  Madame  de  Bargeton's  house 
constituted  a  small  revolution.  Who  were  the  authors  of  \ 
it?  None  other  than  Lamartiue  and  Victor  Hugo,  Casi-  | 
mir  Delavigne  and  Jouy,  Beranger  and  Chateaubriand, 
Villemain  and  M.  Aignan,  Soumet  and  Tissot,  Etienne 
and  Davrigny,  Benjamin  Constant  and  Lamennais, 
Cousin  and  Michaud ;  in  short,  all  the  old  as  well  as 
the  new  glories  of  literature,  —  liberals  and  royalists 
both.  Madame  de  Bargeton  liked  art  and  letters,  —  an 
extravagant  taste,  a  mania  much  deplored  in  Angou- 
leme, but  one  which  it  is  necessarv  to  remember  in 
sketching  the  life  of  a  woman  born  to  be  distinguished, 
3'et  condemned  to  obscurity  b}'  fatal  circumstances ; 
a  woman  whose  influence  determined  the  fate  of  Lucien 
C harden. 

Monsieur  de  Baroreton  was  the  great  grandson  of  an 


£8  Lost  Illusions. 

alderman  of  Bordeaux,  named  Mirault,  ennobled  "by 
Louis  XIII.  for  his  long  civic  services.  Under  Louis 
XIV.  his  son,  then  Mirault  of  Bargeton,  was  an  officer 
of  the  Household  Guard,  and  made  so  great  a  marriage 
that,  under  Louis  XV.  his  son  was  called  Monsieur  de 
Bargeton.  This  descendant  of  the  alderman  was  so  bent 
*on  behaving  like  a  perfect  gentleman  that  he  wasted  the 
substance  of  the  famil}'  and  cut  short  its  career.  Two  of 
his  brothers,  great-uncles  of  the  present  Bargeton,  re- 
turned to  business,  and  as  the  estate  of  Bargeton  as  well 
as  the  house  in  Angouleme,  called  the  hotel  de  Bargeton, 
was  entailed,  the  grandson  of  Bargeton  the  spendthrift 
inherited  them.  In  1789  he  lost  his  territorial  rights, 
retaining  only  the  rental  of  the  propert}^,  which  amounted 
to  six  thousand  francs  a  year.  If  his  grandfather  had 
followed  the  example  of  his  progenitors  the  present 
Bargeton  (surnamed  ''the  Mute")  might  have  made 
a  great  marriage  and  ended  as  duke  and  peer  of 
France  ;  as  it  w^as,  he  was  extremely  flattered  to  be 
able  to  marr}',  in  1805,  Mademoiselle  Marie-Louise- 
Anais  de  Negrepelisse,  daughter  of  a  gentleman  of 
rank  long  forgotten  in  his  countr}'  home,  though  he 
belonged  to  the  younger  branch  of  one  of  the  oldest 
families  in  the  south  of  France.  There  was  a  Negrepe- 
lisse among  the  hostages  of  Louis  XI.  ;  but  the  head 
of  the  eldest  branch  bore  the  illustrious  name  of 
d'JLspard,  acquired  under  Henry  IV.,  through  a  mar- 
riage witli  the  heiress  of  that  family. 

Circumstances  that  were  somewhat  rare  in  the  depths 
of  the  provinces  had  inspired  Madame  de  Bargeton  with 
a  taste  for  music  and  literature.  During  the  Kevolution 
a  certain  Abbe  iSiollant,  the  best   pupil  of  the  Abb6 


LoHt  Illusions.  39 

Boze,  hid  himself  awa}'  in  the  neighboring  little  castle 
of  P3scnibas,  belonging  to  her  fatiier.  lie  repaid  the 
hospitality  shown  to  him  by  tlie  old  gentleman  In-  edn- 
cating  his  danghtcr  Anais  (abbreviated  to  Xais)  who, 
but  for  this  accident,  would  have  been  left  to  herself,  or 
worse  still,  to  some  ignorant  chamber-maid.  Not  only 
was  the  abbe  a  musician,  but  he  possessed  a  wide  knowl- 
edge of  literature  and  also  knew  Italian  and  German. 
He  taught  those  languages  and  counterpoint  to  Mademoi- , 
selle  de  Xegrepelisse  ;  explained  the  great  literary  works 
of  France,  Ital}'.  and  Germany,  and  practised  with  her  the 
music  of  the  chief  composers.  Besides  this,  he  taught 
her  Greek  and  Latin,  as  a  resource  against  the  weary 
inoccupation  of  solitude  to  which  political  events  con- 
demned him,  and  he  gave  her  a  fair  inkling  of  natural 
science.  A  mother's  presence  was  not  there  to  modify 
the  masculine  tendencies  of  such  an  education  on  a 
young  girl  who  was  already  too  inclined  to  independence 
by  the  freedom  of  her  country  life.  The  Abbe  Xiollant, 
with  a  poetic  soul  full  of  enthusiasm,  was  remarkable 
for  the  sort  of  mind  peculiar  to  artists,  which,  while 
possessing  many  other  precious  qualities,  rises  above 
the  bourgeois  and  philistine  ideas  by  the  breadth  of  its 
perceptions  and  its  freedom  of  judgment.  Though  the 
world  may  pardon  the  temerity  of  such  minds  in  virtue 
of  their  original  profundity-,  it  is  often  harmful  in  pri- 
vate life  b}-  the  unconventionalities  of  thought  and  con- 
duct which  it  inspires.  The  abbe  was  brimful  of 
ardor ;  his  ideas  were  therefore  contagious  to  a  girl  in 
whom  the  natural  enthusiasm  of  her  youth  and  sex  was 
greatly  increased  b}'  the  solitude  of  her  country  life. 
Monsieur  NioUant  inoculated   his  pupil  with  his  own 


40  Lost  Illusions, 

boldness  of  discussion  and  facility  of  judgment,  Tvitli- 
'  out  reflecting  that  those  qualities  so  necessary  to  a  man 
become  defects  in  a  woman  whose  destiu}'  is  that  of  a 
mother  to  her  famil3\  Though  the  abbe  was  constantly 
recommending  his  pupil  to  be  all  the  more  modest  and 
and  graceful  because  her  knowledge  was  extensive, 
Mademoiselle  de  Negrepelisse  acquired  a  very  good 
opinion  of  herself,  and  a  very  robust  contempt  for  hu- 
manit}'.  Seeing  no  one  about  her  but  inferiors  and 
persons  who  hastened  to  obey  her  will,  she  assumed  the 
haughtiness  of  a  great  lad}^  without  the  soothing  craft 
of  a  great  lady's  politeness.  Flattered  in  ever}'  fibre 
of  her  vanit}^  by  a  poor  abbe,  who  admired  himself  in 
her  as  an  author  is  proud  of  his  work,  she  was  unfor- 
tunate enough  to  meet  with  no  point  of  comparison  by 
which  to  judge  herself.  The  lack  of  companionship 
is  one  of  tlie  greatest  drawbacks  to  country  life.  For 
want  of  practising  the  little  sacrifices  of  dress  and  be- 
havior due  to  others,  we  lose  the  habit  of  constraining 
ourselves  in  their  service.  Habits  and  thoughts  become 
vitiated.  The  boldness  of  the  young  girl's  thoughts 
graduallv  passed  into  her  manners  and  into  her  'e3'es  ; 
she  acquired  the  cavalier  air  which  seems  at  first  sight 
original,  but  which  really  belongs  only  to  women  of 
loose  lives.  Thus  her  education,  the  sharp  points  of 
which  might  have  been  rubbed  off  in  higher  social 
regions,  was  likely  to  make  her  simply  ridiculous  in 
Angoul3me  wlienever  her  admirers  should  cease  to  deif)' 
peculiarities  which  were  charming  and  graceful  only 
so  long  as  her  youtli  lasted. 

As  for   Monsieur   de   Negrepelisse,  he  would    have 
given  away  all  his  daughter's  books  to  save  tiie  life  of 


Lost  Illusions.  41 

a  sick  cow  ;  he  was  so  niggardl}-  that  under  no  circum- 
stances would  he  have  allowed  her  two  farthings  above 
her  actual  rights,  not  even  for  the  purchase  of  some 
trifle  for  her  education.  The  abbe  died  in  1802,  three 
years  before  the  marriage  of  his  dear  child,  —  a 
marriage  he  would  doubtless  have  opposed.  The  old 
gentleman  felt  himself  hampered  by  his  daughter  after 
the  abbe's  death.  He  was  too  feeble  for  the  struggle 
he  knew  must  break  forth  between  his  avarice  and  her 
independent  will.  Like  other  3'oung  women  who  have 
turned  out  of  the  beaten  track  on  whicli  women  are 
expected  to  walk,  Na'is  had  judged  of  marriage  and  felt 
little  desire  for  it.  It  was  repugnant  to  her  to  submit 
her  mind  and  her  person  to  the  men  of  small  worth  and 
no  personal  dignity  with  whom  she  was  acquainted. 
She  wished  to  rule,  and  marriage  would  force  her  to 
obey.  Between  obeying  the  coarse  caprices  of  minds 
which  had  no  understanding  of  her  tastes,  and  flight 
with  a  lover  who  pleased  her,  siie  would  not  have  hesi- 
tated. Monsieur  de  Negrepelisse  was  enough  of  a 
gentleman  to  dread  a  mesalliance.  Like  many  other 
fathers,  he  resolved  to  marrj-  his  daughter  for  his  own 
comfort.  What  he  wished  to  find  was  a  man  of  rank 
without  much  sense ;  one  who  would  not  haggle  over 
the  guardianship  account  of  his  daughter's  fortune  from 
her  mother ;  a  man  sufficiently  wanting  in  mind  and 
will  to  enable  Nais  to  rule  him  as  she  pleased,  3'et  dis- 
interested enough  to  marry  her  without  a  dowry.  But 
how  find  such  a  man,  who  would  please  both  father  and 
daughter?  a  son-in-law  with  those  qualities  would  be  a 
phffinix.  With  this  idea  in  his  mind,  the  old  gentleman 
studied  all  the  marriageable  men  in  the  province,  and 


42  Lost  Illusions. 

Monsieur  de  Bargeton  seemed  to  him  the  only  one  who 
answered  his  requirements. 

Monsieur  de  Bargeton,  a  man  in  the  forties,  much 
dilapidated  by  the  amorous  dissipations  of  his  youth, 
was  held  to  be  remarkabh'  inferior  in  mind  ;  but  he  had 
enough  sense  to  manage  his  property  and  sufficientl}^ 
good  manners  to  maintain  his  position  in  the  society  of 
Angouleme  without  committing  either  follies  or  sole- 
cisms. Monsieur  de  Negrepelisse  bluntlj'  explained  to 
his  daughter  the  negative  value  of  the  model  husband 
he  proposed  to  her,  and  made  her  see  the  manner  in 
which  he  might  be  made  to  conduce  to  her  individual 
happiness.  He  reminded  her  that  she  would  marry  arms 
that  w6re  two  centuries  old  ;  —  for  the  Bargetons  bear : 
quarterl}',  or,  three  deer's-heads  erased  gules  ;  per  chev- 
ron gules,  three  bull's-heads  caboched  sable  ;  third  and 
second  party  per  fesse  of  six  pieces,  azure  and  ar- 
gent, the  azure  charged  with  six  cockles  or.  Introduced 
to  the  world  b}"  some  woman  of  distinction,  she  might, 
he  told  her,  manage  her  fortune  as  she  pleased,  and 
obtain  a  social  rank  in  Paris  through  the  intimacies 
which  her  mind  and  her  beaut}'  would  be  certain  to 
obtain  for  her.  Nais  was  taken  by  this  perspective  of 
future  libert}'.  Monsieur  de  Bargeton  felt  he  was 
making  a  brilliant  marriage,  believing  that  his  father- 
in-law  would  soon  depart  this  life  and  leave  him  the 
estate,  tliough  the  old  gentleman  was  unwillhig  to 
charge  it  with  a  dowry ;  the  real  fact  being,  however, 
that  at  that  moment,  Monsieur  de  Negrepelisse  was 
more  likely  to  write  the  epitaph  of  his  son-in-law. 

At  the  time  of  which  we  speak  Madame  de  Bargeton 
was  about  thirty-six,  and  her  husband  lilty -eight.     This 


Lost  Illusions.  43 

disparity  was  tne  more  unpleasant  because  Monsieur  de 
Bargeton  seemed  at  least  sevent}',  whereas  his  wife 
could  very  well  pass  as  a  girl,  dress  in  pink,  and  wear 
her  hair  down  her  back.  Though  their  income  was  not 
much  more  than  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year,  it  was 
classed  among  the  six  largest  fortunes  in  Angouleme,  — 
those  of  the  merchants  and  municipal  officers  excepted. 
The  necessity  of  conciliating  their  father,  on  whose 
inheritance  Madame  de  Bargeton's  future  career  in 
Paris  depended,  obliged  them  to  live  for  the  present 
in  Angouleme,  where  the  brilliant  qualities  of  mind  and 
the  unused  riches  of  Nais's  heart  were  wasting  fruit- 
lessl}',  and  even,  as  time  w^ent  on,  drifting  into  absurd- 
it}^  The  truth  is,  our  absurdities  are  often,  in  a,  great 
measure,  caused  b}'  some  noble  feeling  or  virtue  or 
faculty  carried  to  extremes.  For  instance,  pride,  if  it 
is  not  modified  b}'  the  usages  of  good  society,  becomes 
stiff  and  starched,  and  is  occupied  with  little  things  in- 
stead of  ennobling  itself  b}'  great  ones.  Enthusiasm, 
that  virtue  within  a  virtue,  which  inspires  secret  devo- 
tions and  dazzling  or  poetic  deeds,  turns  to  exaggeration 
when  expended  on  the  nothings  of  provincial  life.  Far 
from  the  centre  w^here  great  minds  light  the  horizon,- 
where  the  atmosphere  is  charged  with  thought,  where 
all  things  renew  their  life  and  make  progress,  education 
grows  stale  and  taste  corrupt,  like  stagnant  water.  For 
want  of  exercise  the  passions  are  belittled  by  the  ver}^ 
fact  of  their  magnifying  petty  things.  In  that  lies  the 
secret  of  the  avarice  and  the  slander  which  poison  pro- 
vincial life.  It  is  not  long  before  the  most  distin- 
guished minds  are  led  to  share  the  narrow  ideas  and 
imitate   the   mean   social  customs  of  countrj'   places. 


44  Lo&t  Illusions. 

Men  born  to  greatness,  and  women  who  might  be 
charming  if  trained  to  a  better  life  hy  superior  minds, 
perish  in  this  wa}'.  Madame  de  Bargeton  seized  the 
lyre  on  all  occasions,  without  knowing  how  to  distin- 
guish between  the  poetrj'  which  ought  to  be  sacred  to 
her  own  heart  and  that  which  could  be  offered  publicly. 
There  are  various  sensations,  incomprehensible  to 
many,  which  should  be  kept  to  ourselves.  A  sunset  is 
certainly  a  grand  poem,  but  a  woman  who  depicts  it  in 
grand  words  to  material  minds  is  absurd.  There  are 
delights  which  can  be  reall}'  felt  only  when  two  souls 
meet,  poet  to  poet,  heart  to  heart.  She  made  the  mis- 
take of  using  long  sentences  larded  with  magniloquent 
words,  and  was  prodigal  of  superlatives,  which  over- 
weighted her  conversation  so  that  trifling  things  as- 
sumed gigantic  proportions.  At  about  this  period  of 
her  life  she  began  to  analyze,  synthesize,  individualize, 
poetize,  dramatize,  angelicize,  and  tragicize,  —  for  we 
must  for  a  moment  violate  language  to  express  the 
extravagance  of  which  some  women  are  capable.  Her 
mind  was  full}-  as  excitable  as  her  language.  Dith)^- 
rambics  were  in  her  heart  as  well  as  on  her  lips.  She 
palpitated,  turned  faint,  or  grew  wildly  enthusiastic 
over  all  events,  —  over  the  devotion  of  a  sister  of 
charity",  or  the  execution  of  the  Faucher  brothers ; 
over  the  "Ipsiboe"  of  Monsieur  d'Arlincourt,  or  Lewis's 
"Anaconda  ;"  over  the  escape  of  La  Valette,  as  ardontl}^ 
as  over  the  braver}'  of  a  friend  who  had  put  burglai's 
to  flight  by  pretending  to  be  a  man.  For  INLidanie  de 
Bargeton  all  things  were  sublime,  cxtraordinar}-,  amaz- 
ing, divine,  marvellous.  She  was  animated,  angered, 
or  depressed ;    taking  a   fresh  spring,  she  would  fall 


Lost  Illusions.  45 

back  upon  herself,  gazing  at  earth  and  heaven  witli 
eyes  full  of  tears.  81ie  spent  her  life  in  perpetual 
admiration,  and  wasted  her  strength  in  curious  disHkes. 
Siie  envied  Lady  Hester  Stanhope,  the  blue-stocking 
of  the  desert.  She  longed  to  be  a  sister  of  Sainte- 
Camille,  and  die  of  yellow  fever  in  Barcelona,  while 
nursing  the  sick ;  that  indeed  was  a  noble,  a  grand 
fate !  In  short,  she  thirsted  for  all  that  was  not  the 
clear  water  of  life  flowing  in  hidden  ways.  She  adored 
Lord  Byron,  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau,  and  other  poetic 
and  dramatic  beings.  She  had  tears  for  all  misfortunes, 
and  trumpets  for  all  victories.  She  sympathized  with 
Napoleon  vanquished,  and  she  sympatliized  with  Me- 
hemet  All  massacring  the  tyrants  of  Kgypt.  She 
encircled  genius  with  a  halo  and  believed  that  those 
who  were  gifted  with  it  lived  on  light  and  perfume. 
Some  persons  thought  her  harmlessly  craz}',  but  a  true 
observer  would  have  seen  in  these  things  the  fragments 
of  a  great  emotion  destroyed  as  soon  as  it  existed,  the 
ruins  of  a  celestial  Jerusalem,  —  in  short,  a  love  with- 
out a  lover.     This  was,  indeed,  the  truth. 

The  first  eighteen  years  of  Madame  de  Bargeton's 
married  life  can  be  told  in  few  words.  For  a  time  she 
lived  on  her  own  nature  and  her  distant  hopes.  Then, 
after  recognizing  that  the  Parisian  life  for  which  she 
longed  was  beyond  her  limited  means,  she  took  to  ex- 
amining the  persons  among  whom  she  had  to  live,  and 
she  trembled  at  her  solitude.  There  was  no  man 
within  the  cn-cle  of  her  knowledge  who  could  inspire 
her  wdth  one  of  those  devotions  to  which  women  are 
prone  when  driven  to  despair  by  a  life  without  object, 
events,  or   interest.     She   could   look  to  nothing,  not 


46  Lost  Illusions. 

even  to  chance,  —  for  there  are  lives  to  which  chance 
never  comes.  At  the  time  when  the  Empire  shone  in  all 
its  glory  after  Na[)oleon's  passage  into  Spain,  whilher 
the  jflower  of  his  arm}'  went,  Madame  de  Bargeton's 
hopes  revived.  Natural  curiosit}'  led  her  to  regard 
with  interest  the  heroes  who  were  conquering  Europe 
on  the  inspiration  of  a  few  imperial  words  added  to 
the  orders  of  the  day  ;  renewing,  to  her  mind,  tlie  fabu- 
lous exploits  of  chivahy.  All  the  towns  on  the  route 
of  the  army,  niggardly  or  refractory  as  they  might  be, 
were  compelled  to  entertain  the  Imperial  Guard  ;  the 
mayor  and  prefects  were  required  to  meet  them  at  the 
gates  with  an  harangue  on  their  lips  as  if  for  royalty. 
Madame  de  Bargeton  was  present  at  a  fete  given  by  a 
passing  regiment  to  the  town  of  AngoulOme  and  there 
she  s*aw  and  admired  a  young  nobleman,  a  sub-lieu- 
tenant to  whom  the  baton  of  a  marshal  of  France  was 
a  hope  in  perspective.  This  restrained  passion,  noble 
and  grand  in  itself  and  contrasting  strongl}-  with  the 
facile  passions  of  the  time,  so  quickly  bound  and  un- 
bound, was  consecrated  b}'  death.  The  only  portrait 
which  existed  of  Madame  de  Bargeton  was  shivered  by 
a  shot  through  the  heart  of  the  Marquis  de  Cante-Croix 
at  Wagram.  She  long  mourned  the  fine  young  man, 
who,  eager  for  fame  and  love,  had  become  a  colonel, 
and  regarded  a  letter  from  Nais  as  far  above  all  im- 
perial distinctions. 

Grief  henceforth  cast  its  veil  of  sadness  on  her 
face,  which  was  never  lifted  until  the  terrijile  day  when 
a  woman  begins  to  perceive  that  her  best  years  are 
gone  without  enjoyment,  that  lier  roses  are  faded,  while 
the  yearning  for  love  revives  in  a  passionate  desire  to 


Lost  Illusions.  47 

prolong  the  last  memories  of  youth.  All  her  superior 
qualities  made,  as  it  were,  wounds  in  her  heart  when  the 
cold  chill  of  this  condition  seized  her.  Like  the  ermine, 
she  would  have  died  of"  grief  had  she  stained  herself  by 
contact  with  men  whose  only  thought  was  their  whist 
and  a  good  dinner.  Her  pride  preserved  her  from  such 
miserable  provincial  loves.  Between  the  nonentit}'  of 
the  men  who  surrounded  her  and  absolute  nothingness 
of  life,  so  superior  a  woman  would  naturally  choose  the 
latter.  Marriage  and  societ\-  were  therefore  to  her  like 
a  nunner}'.  She  lived  in  their  midst  by  poetry,  as  a 
Carmelite  lives  by  religion.  The  works  of  distinguished 
foreigners,  till  then  untranslated  and  unknown,  which 
were  published  from  1815  to  1821,  the  great  essays  of 
Monsieur  de  Bonald  and  Monsieur  de  Maistre,  those 
eagles  of  thought,  and  the  lighter  works  of  French  lit- 
erature which  were  beginning  to  put  forth  vigorouslj', 
occupied  and  embellished  her  solitude,  but  they  did  not 
give  plianc}'  to  either  her  mind  or  her  person.  She  re- 
mained erect  as  a  tree  which  has  been  struck  by  light- 
ning and  survived  the  shock.  Her  dignity  grew  rigid, 
and  it  made  her  affected  and  over-critical. 

Such  was  Madame  de  Bargeton's  past  life,  —  a  chill- 
ing history,  which  it  is  necessary  to  know  in  order  to 
understand  her  relations  with  Lucien,  who  was  rather 
singularly  introduced  into  her  house.  During  the  pre- 
ceding winter  a  gentleman  had  come  to  live  in  An- 
gouleme  as  revenue  director,  whose  adventurous  career 
brought  the  interest  of  curiosity'  into  the  monotonous 
life  of  Madame  de  Bargeton. 

Monsieur  du  Chatelet,  born  plain  Sixte  Chatelet, 
though  after  1806  he  had  the  sense  to  orive  himself  a 


48  Lost  Illusions. 

title,  was  one  of  those  agreeable  men  who,  under  Napo- 
leon, contrived  to  escape  conscriptions  by  keeping  in 
the  light  of  the  imperial  sun.  He  began  his  career  as 
secretar}'  to  the  caprices  of  an  imperial  princess.  Mon- 
sieur du  Chatelet  possessed  all  the  incapacities  re- 
quired for  that  position.  Well-made,  handsome,  a 
good  dancer,  clever  billiard -player,  an  adept  at  all 
bodih'  exercises,  a  rather  poor  amateur  actor,  a  singer 
of  ballads,  applauder  of  other  people's  witticisms,  read}' 
for  anything,  wil}'  and  envious,  he  knew  and  w'as  igno- 
rant of  most  things.  Ignorant  of  music,  he  accom- 
panied on  the  piano,  after  a  fashion,  any  woman  who 
was  pressed  to  sing  impromptu  a  song  practised  for  a 
month.  Incapable  of  a  feeling  for  poetr}',  he  would 
boldl}'  ask  permission  to  retire  for  ten  minutes  while 
he  composed  a  couplet  or  a  quatrain,  flat  as  a  pancake, 
in  which  rhyme  was  made  to  stand  for  ideas.  Mon- 
sieur du  Chatelet  was  further  gifted  with  a  talent  for 
filling  up  in  worsted  work  the  flowers  which  his  prin- 
cess had  begun  ;  he  held  her  skeins  of  silk  with  infinite 
grace,  while  she  wound  them,  and  told  her  gossip  of 
which  the  smuttiness  could  be  seen  through  rents  in 
the  veiling.  Ignorant  of  art,  he  could  copy  a  land- 
scape, sketch  a  profile  or  a  costume,  and  even  color  it. 
In  short  he  had  all  those  little  talents  which  proved 
such  vehicles  to  fortune  in  the  days  of  the  Empire,  when 
women  had  more  influence  than  we  admit  in  public 
affairs.  He  claimed  to  be  clever  in  diplomacy,  the 
science  of  those  who  have  no  other,  and  whose  depth 
seems  the  greater  because  the}'  are  empty,  —  a  science 
extremely  convenient  because,  while  professing  to  bo 
discreet,  it  allows  an  ignorant  man  t>o  say  nothing,  to 


Lost  Illusions.  49 

confine  himself  to  mysterious  becks  and  nods ;  in  fact 
the  ablest  man  in  the  science  of  diplomac}'  is  he  who 
swims  with  his  head  well  up  above  the  current  of  events 
which  lie  thus  appears  to  lead,  — a  question  of  specific 
levity.  Here,  as  in  the  arts,  we  find  a  thousand  com- 
monplace talents  for  one  man  of  genius. 

Notwithstandinof  his  resfular  and  his  irret(ular  service 
to  the  imperial  princess,  the  influence  of  his  protectress 
was  insufficient  to  place  him  in  the  Council  of  State. 
But  he  was  made  a  biiron  and  sent  to  Cassel  as  envoy 
extraordinar}',  where  the  effect  he  produced  was  truly 
extraordinar}'.  At  the  moment  of  the  fall  of  the  Em- 
pire Baron  du  Chatelet  was  expecting  the  appointment 
of  minister  to  Westphalia,  Jerome's  court.  Losing  what 
he  called  his  famil}-  post,  despair  seized  upon  him.  He 
made  a  journe}'  to  Egypt  with  General  Armand  de 
Montriveau.  There  he  became  separated  from  his 
companion  b}'  singular  events,  and  wandered  for  two 
years  from  desert  to  desert  and  tribe  to  tribe,  a  captive 
among  the  Arabs,  who  sold  and  resold  him  to  one  an- 
other. Fate  at  last  brought  him  to  the  coast  about  the 
time  that  Montriveau  was  at  Tangier,  and  he  was 
luck}'  enough  to  get  on  board  an  English  brig,  and  so 
return  to  Paris,  one  year  before  the  general.  These 
misfortunes  and  a  few  services  rendered  in  earlier  days 
to  persons  now  in  power,  brought  him  to  the  notice  of 
Monsieur  de  Barante,  who  gave  him  his  present  post 
in  Angouleme.  The  position  he  had  held  towards  the 
imperial  princess,  his  reputation  for  gallantr\',  the  sin- 
gular adventures  of  his  journey,  and  the  tale  of  his  suf- 
ferings, excited  the  curiosity  of  the  women  of  Angou- 
leme.   After   studying   the   manners   and   customs   of 

4 


50  Lost  Illusions, 

that  provincial  high  life,  Monsieur  le  Baron  Sixte  du 
Chatelet  conducted  himself  according^.  He  pretended 
ill-healtli,  and  played  the  part  of  a  blase  man  of  the 
world. 

He  was  fond  of  seizing  his  head  as  if  his  sufferings 
gave  him  no  respite,  a  little  performance  which  re- 
minded others  of  his  travels  and  made  him  interesting. 
He  visited  among  the  chief  authorities  of  the  place, 
the  general,  the  prefect,  the  receiver-general,  and  the 
bishop  ;  but  he  was  everywhere  cold,  polite,  and  slightl}' 
disdainful,  as  a  man  out  of  place  and  awaiting  the  time 
when  the  government  should  bestow  its  favors.  He 
allowed  the  society  of  Angouleme  to  guess  at  his  tal- 
ents, which  gained  rather  than  lost  by  this  reticence  ; 
then,  after  making  himself  an  object  of  interest  without 
wearying  or  satisfying  curiosit3%  and  having  himself 
recognized  the  commonplaceness  of  the  men,  and  know- 
ingly examined  the  beauty  of  the  women  for  several 
Sundays  in  the  cathedral,  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  Madame  de  Bargeton  was  the  person  with  whom 
an  intimac}^  would  be  most  profitable  to  him.  The  old 
beau  (for  he  was  forty-five  years  old)  saw  in  this  woman 
a  youth  that  might  be  revived,  treasures  to  put  to  use  ; 
possibly  the  chance  of  a  rich  widowhood,  which  would 
enable  him  to  marry  into  a  family  connected  with  the 
Mar(]uis  d'Espard,  whose  influence  would  open  to  him 
a  political  career  in  Paris.  In  spite  of  the  gloom  and 
solitude  of  this  line  tree  he  resolved  to  take  hold  of  it, 
prune  it,  cultivate  it,  and  obtain  fine  fruits.  The  aris- 
tocracy of  Angouleme  cried  out  at  first  against  the  in- 
troduction of  a  Giaour  into  the  Kasba,  for  Madame  de 
Bargeton's  salon  was  a  centre  of  societ}'  kept  pure  of 


Lo»t  Illusions.  51 

alio}'.  The  bishop  alone  went  there  habituall}' ;  the 
prefect  was  received  only  two  or  three  times  a  year ; 
the  receiver-general  had  never  been  invited  there  at  all. 
Madame  de  Bargeton  went  to  his  public  parties  and 
concerts  but  never  dined  at  his  house.  Not  to  receive 
an  oflicial  of  his  rank,  and  then  to  admit  a  mere  director 
of  taxes  was  an  upsetting  of  the  hierarchy  which  seemed 
incomprehensible  to  the  affronted  authorities. 

Those  who  can  bring  their  mind  to  imagine  such 
pettiness,  which  may  be  found,  by  the  bye,  in  all  social 
spheres,  will  understand  how  imposing  the  hotel  de 
Bargeton  was  to  the  bourgeoisie  of  Angouleme.  As 
for  the  dwellers  in  the  suburb  of  I'Houmeau,  the  grand- 
eurs of  this  little  Louvre,  the  fame  of  this  Hotel  de  Ram- 
bouillet  shone  like  a  distant  galaxy*.  Those  who  there 
assembled  were,  in  truth,  a  pitiable  company  of  inferior 
minds,  the  poorest  intellects  to  be  found  in  a  circum- 
ference of  sixty  miles.  Politics  were  discussed  with 
wordy  and  virulent  commonplaces,  the  '•'  Quotidienne  '* 
was  thought  lukewarm,  Louis  XVIII.  a  Jacobin.  As 
for  the  women,  the  greater  part  of  them  were  awkward, 
silly,  and  ill-dressed ;  all  had  some  defect  which  de- 
tracted from  their  merit ;  nothing  was  complete  or 
perfect  about  them  ;  neither  their  dress  nor  their  con- 
versation, their  flesh  nor  their  spirit.  Chatelet  would 
never  have  endured  this  society  were  it  not  for  his 
designs  on  the  mistress  of  the  house.  And  yet  the 
manners  and  tone  of  caste,  the  atmosphere  of  breedmg, 
the  haughtiness  of  a  small  nobility,  and  a  thorough 
practice  of  the  rules  of  politeness  covered  this  void  as 
with  a  veil.  The  sentiment  of  nobility  was  also  more 
genuine  than  it  is  in  the  sphere  of  Parisian  grandeur : 


52  Lost  Illusions. 

and  at  times  a  true  attachment  to  the  Bourbons  qiiand 
ineme  showed  itself.  This  societ}'  can  be  compared  (if 
we  may  use  the  simile)  to  a  silver  service  of  antique 
form,  tarnished,  but  solid  and  weight}'.  The  immova- 
bleness  of  its  political  opinions  had  a  character  of 
fidelity.  The  distance  maintained  between  itself  and 
the  bourgeoisie,  the  difficulty  of  entering  its  borders, 
gave  it  an  appearance  of  elevation  and  a  certain  con- 
ventional value. 

Du  Chatelet  began  his  siege  of  Madame  de  Bargeton 
by  lending  her  all  the  new  books,  and  reading  to  her 
the  poems  of  the  da3^  Together  the}'  went  into  ecsta- 
cies  over  the  new  school  of  poets,  she  in  good  faith,  he 
with  inward  weariness,  though  patiently  enduring  the 
romanticists,  who,  as  a  man  of  the  Empire,  he  was 
wholly  unable  to  comprehend.  Madame  de  Bargeton, 
enthusiastic  over  the  renaissance  which  the  Eestoration 
had  brought  about,  loved  Monsieur  de  Chateaubriand 
because  he  had  called  Victor  Hugo  "  a  sublime  youth." 
Saddened  at  the  thought  that  she  should  only  know 
genius  from  afar,  she  longed  for  Paris,  the  centre  of 
great  minds.  Du  Chatelet,  initiated  into  these  feelings, 
thought  he  did  a  marvellous  stroke  of  polic}'  b}-  telling 
her  that  another  "sublime  3'outh  "  was  buried  in  An- 
gouleme,  —  a  young  poet  who,  without  knowing  it,  sur- 
passed in  brilHancy  the  Parisian  galaxy.  This  future 
great  man  was  born  and  lived  in  the  suburb  of  THou- 
meau  !  He,  du  Chatelet,  had  been  shown  a  Xq^  of  his 
poems  by  the  head  of  the  college.  Poor  and  modest, 
the  lad  was  another  Chatterton,  but  without  political 
baseness,  without  the  ferocious  hatred  against  social 
grandeur  which  drove  the  Englishman  into  writing  pam- 


Lost  lUusions.  53 

phlets  to  insult  his  benefactors.  Nothing  could  describe 
Madame  de  Bargeton's  joy  at  the  news.  She  must  see 
this  poet,  this  angel ;  she  went  distracted  about  him, 
and  tallied  for  hours  enthusiastically.  Two  days  later 
du  Chatelet  arranged,  through  the  principal  of  the  col- 
lege, to  meet  Lucieu  the  following  evening  and  present 
him  in  Madame  de  Bargeton's  salon. 

Xoue  but  the  poor  provincial  helots  to  whom  social 
distances  are  so  vast,  and  to  whom  the  iron  railings 
through  which  the  different  classes  anathematize  and 
call  each  other  Raca  seem  so  forbidding,  can  fully  un- 
derstand the  upheaval  of  brain  and  soul  in  Lucien 
Chardou  when  his  late  imposing  head-master  informed 
him  that  the  doors  of  the  hotel  de  Bargeton  were  about 
to  open  to  him  !  his  fame  had  swung  their  hinges !  he 
was  welcomed  to  a  great  house,  the  ancient  gables  of 
which  attracted  his  gaze  when  he  walked  with  David  in 
the  evenings  towards  Beaulieu,  each  telling  the  other 
that  their  names  would  never  reach  the  ears  that  were 
deaf  to  talent  when  it  came  from  below.  He  told  no 
one  but  his  sister  of  this  great  event.  In  her  capacity 
as  good  housewife,  a  divine  diviner.  Eve  produced  sev- 
eral louis  from  a  secret  hoard  to  furnish  Lucien  with 
the  handsomest  shoes  made  by  the  best  bootmaker  in 
Angouleme,  and  a  dress  suit  from  a  celebrated  tailor. 
She  trimmed  his  best  shirt  with  a  ruffle  which  she 
washed  and  pleated  herself.  What  J03'  to  see  him  thus 
attired !  how  proud  she  was  of  him !  what  advice  she 
gave  him  !  Siie  foresaw  little  ignorant  absurdities ; 
for  instance,  Lucien  had  a  habit  of  leaning  on  his 
elbows  whenever  he  sat  down  ;  he  would  even  draw  a 
table  to  his  side  for  that  purpose.     Eve  forbade  him  to 


54  Lost  Illusions, 

give  way  to  such  actions  in  the  sacred  aristocratic  pre- 
cincts he  was  about  to  enter.  She  accompanied  him  to 
the  Porte  de  Saint-Pierre  almost  in  front  of  the  cathe- 
dral, and  thence  she  watched  him  following  the  rue  de 
Beaulieu  to  the  avenue  on  which  Monsieur  du  Chatelet 
was  to  meet  him.  The  poor  girl  was  as  much  over- 
come with  emotion  as  if  some  great  event  were  taking 
place.  Lucien  in  Madame  de  Bargeton's  salon  seemed 
to  Eve  in  the  dawn  of  his  future  fame.  The  pure 
young  creature  was  unaware  that  when  ambition  begins 
single-hearted  feelings  end. 

When  he  reached  the  house  in  the  rue  de  Minage, 
Lucien  found  nothing  astonishing  in  its  exterior.  The 
palace  so  magnified  b}'  his  expectations  was  onl^'  a 
house  built  of  a  freestone  peculiar  to  the  region  and 
gilded  b}'  time.  The  front  on  the  street  was  gloom}-, 
that  on  the  courtyard  was  verj'  simple,  —  cold  and  neat 
like  all  provincial  houses,  plain,  almost  monastic,  archi- 
tecturally, and  well  preserved.  Lucien  passed  up  an 
old-fashioned  staircase,  with  chestnut  balusters,  the 
steps  of  which  ceased  to  be  of  stone  after  the  first 
flight.  Crossing  a  mean  little  antechamber  and  a  large, 
ill-lighted  salon,  he  found  the  sovereign  of  Angouleme 
in  a  little  room  panelled  with  carved  woodwork,  in  the 
style  of  the  last  centur}',  and  painted  gra}'.  The  designs 
above  the  doorways  were  in  imitation  of  cameo.  An 
old  red  damask,  scantih'  trimmed,  filled  the  spaces 
between  the  panels.  Furniture  of  antique  shape  was 
rather  pitil'iilly  hidden  b}-  loose  covers  of  a  red-and- 
white  check.  The  poet  beheld  IMadame  de  Bargeton 
seated  on  a  sort  of  sofa  covered  with  a  tliin  mattress, 
before  a  round    table   with   a  green  cloth,  on  which 


Lost  Illusions.  55 

stood  fi  candelabrum  of  ancient  shape,  holdinir  two 
candles,  that  were  covered  with  a  shade.  The  sover- 
eign did  not  rise,  but  twisted  herself  gracefuU}'  on  her 
seat,  smiling  at  the  poet,  who  was  much  moved  by  the 
serpentine  motion,  which  he  thought  extremely  distin- 
guished. Lucien's  beaut}',  the  timidit}'  of  his  manner, 
his  voice,  everything  about  him,  instantly  attracted 
Madame  de  Bargeton.  The  poet  proved  to  be  poetic. 
The  young  man,  on  his  part,  ventured  to  examine,  with 
discreet  glances,  the  woman  who  seemed  to  him  to 
justify  her  renown  ;  she  suited  all  his  ideas  of  what  a 
great  lad}*  might  be. 

Madame  de  Bargeton  wore,  as  the  fashion  then  was, 
a  head-dress  of  black  velvet  which  suggested  recollec- 
tions of  the  middle-ages,  and  to  Lucien's  eyes  gave  a 
certain  stateliness  to  her  head.  From  beneath  it  fell  a 
wealth  of  hair  of  a  reddish  auburn,  gold  in  the  sun- 
shine, ruddy  in  the  curve  of  its  waves.  Her  skin  was 
of  that  dazzling  purity  which  consoles  a  woman  nnder 
the  mistaken  prejudice  against  red  hair.  Her  gray 
eyes  sparkled  ;  her  brow,  which  was  beginning  to  show 
wrinkles,  surmounted  them  finel}"  with  its  white  mass 
boldly  modelled ;  the  e3'es  themselves  were  circled  b}*  a 
pearly  margin,  in  which,  on  either  side  of  the  nose,  two 
blue  veins  brought  out  vividly  the  whiteness  of  this 
delicate  complexion.  Tlie  nose  had  a  Bourbon  curve 
which  increased  the  fire  of  the  rather  long  face.  The 
hair  did  not  altogether  hide  the  neck.  Her  gown, 
negligently  crossed,  revealed  a  white  throat  and  allowed 
the  eye  to  trace  a  well-formed  bust  that  was  rightly 
placed.  With  her  tapered  and  delicatel}'  kept  fingers 
(which  were  a  little  too  thin),  Madame  de  Bargeton 


56  Lost  Illusions, 

made  a  friendly  sign  to  the  young  poet,  bidding  him 
take  a  chair  that  was  placed  beside  her.  Monsieur  du 
Chateiet  took  another.  Lucien  then  noticed  that  no 
one  else  was  present.  Madame  de  Bargeton's  conver- 
sation completel}-  intoxicated  him.  The  three  hours 
passed  beside  her  were  to  him  one  of  those  dreams 
which  we  would  fain  make  eternal.  He  thought  her 
slender  rather  than  thin,  loving  without  passion,  deli- 
cate in  spite  of  her  vigor.  Her  defects,  which  her 
manners  exaggerated,  pleased  him ;  for  young  men 
begin  by  liking  exaggeration,  —  the  falsehood  of  fine 
souls.  He  did  not  notice  that  the  slightl}'  blotched 
cheeks,  to  which  ennui  and  some  physical  sufferings 
had  given  a  brick-dust  tone,  were  withering.  His 
imagination  seized  upon  those  eyes  of  fire,  those  grace- 
ful curls  rippling  with  light,  that  dazzling  whiteness,  — 
luminous  spots  to  which  he  flew  like  a  moth  to  candles. 
Besides,  her  soul  spoke  to  his  too  urgently  to  let  him 
judge  her  as  a  woman.  The  warmth  of  her  feminine 
enthusiasm,  the  ardor  of  the  speeches  (somewhat  hack- 
neyed) whicli  she  was  in  the  habit  of  uttering  (though 
the}'  were  new  to  Lucien),  fascinated  him  all  the  more 
because  he  wished  to  be  charmed.  He  had  brought  no 
poetry  with  him,  but  there  was  no  mention  of  it;  he 
had  purpose!}'  forgotten  liis  verses  that  he  might  be 
asked  to  bring  them  later ;  Madame  de  Bargeton,  on 
lier  part,  avoided  asking  for  them,  that  she  miglit  invite 
him  to  read  them  on  anotlicr  occasion.  Surel}'  this 
was  a  first  understanding  between  the  two!  INIonsieur 
du  Chateiet  was  not  over-pleased  by  this  reception.  He 
saw  too  late  a  possible  rival  in  tlie  handsome  young 
man,  whom  he  accompanied  part  of  the  way  home  for 


Lost  Illusions.  57 

the  purpose  of  subjecting  him  to  his  cliplomacy.  Lucien 
was  not  a  little  astonished  to  hear  this  Mentor  la}' 
claim  to  the  credit  of  presenting  him,  and  offer  him 
advice  on  the  strength  of  this  service. 

"  It  was  to  be  hoped  Monsieur  Chardon  would  be 
better  treated  than  himself,"  said  Monsieur  du  Chatelet. 
''The  king's  court  was  less  pretentious  than  this  society 
of  blockheads.  There  was  nothing  but  scorn  and  morti- 
fication to  be  got  in  it.  The  revolution  of  1789  would 
have  to  be  done  over  again  if  such  persons  were  ever 
to  be  reformed.  As  for  himself,  if  he  continued  to 
go  into  societ}'  at  all,  it  was  onlv  for  the  sake  of  Ma- 
dame de  Bargeton,  the  one  woman  in  Angouleme  who 
had  any  real  merit ;  he  had  paid  court  to  her  out  of 
mere  idleness,  but  now  he  was  desperatel}'  in  love. 
She  would  soon  be  his  ;  she  loved  hira.  The  conquest 
of  this  haughty  lad}*  was  the  revenge  he  meant  to  take 
on  the  fools  of  her  wretched  societ}'." 

Chatelet  expressed  himself  in  terms  which  implied 
that  he  would  kill  a  rival  if  he  ever  had  one.  The  old 
imperial  flutterer  fell  with  his  whole  weight  upon  the 
luckless  poet,  trying  to  crush  him  with  his,  du  Chate- 
let's,  importance,  and  so  frighten  him  awa}'.  He  did 
succeed  in  impressing  the  imagination  of  the  poet,  but 
he  could  not  check  the  lover. 

Since  that  evening,  and  in  spite  of  du  Chatelet's 
threats  and  glances,  Lucien  had  frequentl}'  visited 
Madame  de  Bargeton  ;  at  first  with  the  modesty  of  a 
man  from  the  suburbs  ;  but  after  he  became  accus- 
tomed to  what  at  first  he  had  thought  a  great  favor, 
he  went  oftener  and  oftener.  The  son  of  an  apothecary 
was  held  by  the  persons  of  her  societ}-  to  be  of  no  ac- 


58  Lost  Illusions, 

count.  If  some  of  them  at  the  beginning  of  the  inti- 
mac3'  chanced  to  meet  him  when  they  visited  Nais,  thej^ 
treated  him  with  the  overwhehning  politeness  which  per- 
sons of  quality  employ  toward  their  inferiors.  Lucien 
at  first  thought  them  gracious  and  charming,  but  later 
he  perceived  the  sentiment  that  \^y  at  the  bottom  of 
their  specious  courtesy.  He  detected  a  tone  of  supe- 
riorit}^,  which  stirred  his  bile  and  confirmed  him  in  the 
republican  hatred  with  which  many  future  patricians 
begin  their  intercourse  with  the  upper  classes.  But  by 
this  time  he  was  willing  to  endure  that,  and  all  other 
sufferings,  for  Nais,  as  he  heard  her  called ;  for 
among  the  intimates  of  this  clan,  as  among  the  Span- 
ish grandees  and  the  cream  of  Viennese  societj*,  men 
and  women  are  known  by  their  Christian  names,  —  a  de- 
vice invented  to  procure  exclusiveness,  and  the  prac- 
tice of  which  gave  distinction  to  the  inner  circles  of 
the  Angouleme  aristocracy. 

Nais  was  loved  as  all  young  men  love  the  first  woman 
who  flatters  them ;  and  she  did  this  b}'  prophesying  a 
great  future  and  vast  fame  for  his  talents.  Madame  de 
Bargeton  put  all  her  natural  cleverness  to  use  in  giving 
her  3'oung  poet  a  foothold  in  her  house.  Not  only  did 
she  place  him  intellectually  ver}^  high,  but  she  repre- 
sented him  as  a  youth  without  fortune  whose  future  she 
desired  to  secure.  She  made  him  her  reader  and  secre- 
tar3%  but  she  loved  him  more  than  she  had  thought  herself 
capable  of  loving  after  the  great  catastro[)he  of  her  life. 
She  arraigned  herself  mentally  ;  declaring  in  her  own 
mind  that  it  was  folly  to  love  a  bo}'  of  twenty,  whose 
social  position  was  far  beneath  her.  Their  familiar  re- 
lations were  often  capriciously  hampered  by  the  haughti- 


Lost  Illusions.  59 

ness  which  her  scruples  prompted.  She  was  proud  or 
protecting,  tender  or  distant,  as  the  feeling  took  her. 
Lucien,  who  was  intimidated  b}-  her  rank,  went  through 
all  the  terrors,  hopes,  and  despairs  which  torture  a  first 
love,  and  give  it  such  power  over  the  heart  b}-  alternate 
blows  of  pain  and  pleasure.  For  two  months  he  re- 
garded her  as  a  benefactress  who  took  a  motherl}^ 
interest  in  his  concerns.  Then  confidences  began. 
Madame  de  Bargeton  called  her  poet  "  dear  Lucien  ;  " 
then  •'•'  dear  "  alone.  The  poet,  thus  emboldened,  called 
the  great  lad}'  "  Xais.''  Hearing  this,  she  was  angrj, 
with  the  anger  so  bewitching  to  3-outh  ;  she  reproached 
him  for  employing  a  name  which  all  the  world  used, 
and  she  offered  her  handsome  genius  the  name  by  which 
no  one  called  her  ;  to  him  she  would  be  Louise,  —  Loiiise 
de  Negrepelisse.     Lucien  was  in  the  third  heaven. 

One  evening  he  entered  the  room  unexpectedly  while 
Louise  was  gazing  at  a  portrait,  which  she  hastily  put 
away.  He  asked  to  see  it.  To  calm  this  first  attack  of 
jealous}',  Louise  showed  him  the  portrait  of  young  Cante- 
Croix,  and  told  him,  not  without  tears,  the  mournful 
history  of  her  love,  so  pure  and  so  cruelly  extinguished. 
Was  she  considering  an  infidelity  to  her  departed  lover, 
or  merely  prqposing  to  give  Lucien  a  rival  in  his  picture? 
Lucien  was  too  young  to  analyze  his  mistress  ;  he  fell 
naively  into  despair  at  this  opening  of  a  campaign  in 
which  women  defend  their  scruples  at  the  breach. 
Their  discussions  on  duty,  on  conventions,  on  religion, 
are  redoubts  which  they  like  their  lovers  to  take  by 
assault.  But  the  innocent  Lucien  did  not  need  such 
coquetries  ;  he  would  have  fought  the  battle  of  love 
quite  naturally. 


60  Lost  Illusions, 

"I  will  not  die,  i"  will  live  for  3'ou,"  said  Lucien, 
aiulaciouslj",  resolving  one  evening  to  make  an  end 
of  Monsieur  de  Cante-Croix,  and  casting  a  look  at 
Louise  which  proved  to  her  that  his  passion  had 
reached  its  height.  Frightened  at  the  progress  the 
new  love  had  made,  not  onl}-  in  her  poet  but  in  herself, 
she  asked  him  for  the  verses  he  had  promised  for  the 
first  page  of  her  album,  and  tried  to  make  a  quarrel  of 
his  delay  in  writing  them,  declaring  that  it  proved  she 
was  incapable  of  inspiring  him. 

This  doubt,  prompted  by  the  coquetry  of  a  woman 
who  took  pleasure  in  thus  playing  with  fire,  brought 
tears  to  Lucien's  ej'es ;  she  calmed  him  and  kissed  his 
forehead  for  the  first  time.  Lucien  was  a  great  man, 
whom  it  was  her  mission  to  train  ;  she  would  teach  him 
German  and  Italian,  and  improve  his  manners.  All 
these,  of  course,  were  pretexts  to  keep  him  constantly 
b^'  her  side,  under  the  noses  of  her  wearisome  admir- 
ers. What  an  interest  in  her  dull  life  !  She  took  up 
her  music  to  reveal  a  world  of  harmou}'  to  her  poet, 
whom  she  ravished  with  Beethoven.  Happy  in  his 
delight  she  said  one  day,  hypocritically,  seeing  him  as 
it  were  transported,  "  Is  not  this  happiness  enough  for 
us?"  To  which  the  poor  poet  had  the ,  stupid  it}'  to 
answer,  "  Yes." 

At  last  matters  reached  a  point  when  Louise  invited 
Lucien  to  dine  with  her  alone  with  Monsieur  de  Barge- 
ton.  In  spite  of  this  latter  precaution  the  whole  town 
heard  of  the  event,  and  thought  it  so  extraordinary  that 
every  one  asked  everybody  else  if  it  could  be  true.  The 
uproar  was  immense.  Some  thought  societ}^  was  on 
the  eve  of  disruption.      Others  cried  out,  *'See  the 


Lost  Illusions,  01 

fruit  of  radical  opinions  !  "  At  this  crisis  dii  Chatelot 
learned  that  Madame  Charlotte,  the  monthly  nurse, 
was  no  other  than  INIadame  Chardon,  mother  of  tlie 
suburban  Chateaubriand.  Thus  worded,  the  informa- 
tion passed  for  wit.  Madame  de  Chandour  rushed  in 
haste  to  Madame  de  Bargeton. 

"  Do  ,you  know,  m\'  dear  Nais,  what  all  Angouleme 
is  saying?  •'  she  cried.  '•  That  little  rhymester  is  the  son 
of  Madame  Charlotte  who  took  care  of  my  sister-in-law 
in  her  last  confinement." 

''My  dear,"  replied  Madame  de  Bargeton,  with  a 
regal  air,  "  what  is  there  in  that?  she  is  the  widow  of 
an  apothecary,  a  hard  fate  for  a  Demoiselle  de  Rubempre. 
Suppose  you  and  I  had  n't  a  penny  in  the  world,  what 
could  we  do  to  make  a  living?  how  would  you  feed 
3'our  children  ?  " 

Madame  de  Bargeton's  coolness  nipped  in  the  bud 
the  lamentations  of  her  friends  ;  the}^  made  a  virtue  out 
of  the  misfortune ;  in  fact  they  presently  saw  only  good 
in  a  thing  the}'  had  begun  by  incriminating  ;  the}'  even 
found  invincible  attractions  in  it  —  innocence  does 
sometimes  have  the  piquancy  of  vice.  At  first  Madame 
de  Bargeton's  salon  was  filled  with  friends  who  intended 
to  remonstrate ;  but  she  met  them  with  caustic  rejoin- 
ders ;  she  said  that  if  noblemen  were  unable  to  become 
Molieres,  Racines,  Rousseaus,  Voltaires,  Massillons,  or 
Diderots,  the  least  the}^  could  do  was  to  w^elcome  among 
them  the  sons  of  tradesmen  after  they  had  proved  them- 
selves great  men.  She  declared  that  genius  was 
nobility.  She  sneered  at  the  countr}'  squires  for  not 
perceiving  their  true  interests.  In  short,  she  talked  a 
great  deal  of  nonsense  which  might  have  enhghtened  a 


^ 


62  Lost  Illusions. 

set  of  people  who  were  not  ninnies ;  her  friends,  how- 
ever, set  them  all  down  to  the  score  of  her  great  origi- 
nality. In  short,  she  averted  the  storm  b}'  firing 
cannon.  When  Lucien,  on  her  invitation,  first  entered 
the  faded  old  salon  where  the  company  were  playing 
whist  at  four  tables,  she  welcomed  him  graciousl}',  and 
presented  him  to  her  friends,  like  a  queen  who  expects 
to  be  obeyed.  She  called  du  Chatelet  "  Monsieur 
Cbatelet,"  and  petrified  that  personage  by  making  him 
understand  she  was  aware  of  his  illegal  assumption  of 
the  particle. 

But  in  spite  of  this  triumph  Nais  did  lose  her  su- 
premacy ;  certain  disaffected  persons  proposed  to  emi- 
grate. By  du  Chatelet's  advice  Amelie  (who  was 
Madame  de  Chandour)  determined  to  raise  altar 
against  altar  and  receive  every  Wednesday.  But 
Madame  de  Bargeton's  salon  was  open  every  evening, 
and  the  guests  who  frequented  it  were  such  creatures 
of  routine,  so  used  to  looking  at  the  same  carpets,  pla}^- 
ing  with  the  same  chequers,  seeing  the  same  servants, 
the  same  torches,  putting  on  their  cloaks,  overshoes, 
and  hats  in  the  same  antechamber,  that  the}"  loved  the 
ver}-  steps  of  the  stairway  as  much  as  the}'  did  the  mis- 
tress of  the  house.  Consequentl}'  the}'  resigned  them- 
selves to  endure  the  goldfinch  thus  thrust  upon  them. 
The  sedition  was  finally  quelled  by  an  authoritative 
remark  of  the  president  of  the  Society  of  Agriculture. 

"Before  the  Revolution,"  he  said,  ''the  highest  per- 
sonages received  Duclos,  Grimm,  Crebillon,  all  men  of 
no  consequence  like  this  little  poet  of  the  suburbs  ;  but 
they  never  admitted  a  tax-collector,  and  that,  after  all, 
is  what  Chatelet  is." 


Lost  Illusions.  63 

Du  Chfitelet  was  made  the  scape-goat  for  Chardon  ; 
eveiy  one  gave  him  the  cold  shoulder.  Finding  him- 
self thus  attacked,  du  Chritelet,  who,  from  the  day 
Madame  de  Bargeton  called  him  Chatelet,  had  vot\'ed 
to  bring  her  under  his  thumb,  acquiesced  in  all  the  views 
of  the  mistress  of  the  house.  He  openl}*  declared  him- 
self a  friend  of  the  3'oung  poet.  This  great  diplomatist, 
whom  the  Emperor  had  foolishly  neglected,  began  by 
introducing  Lucien.  He  gave  a  dinner  for  the  poet,  at 
wliich  were  present  the  prefect,  the  receiver-general, 
the  colonel  of  the  regiment  in  garrison,  the  director  of 
the  naval  school,  the  chief-justice,  and  other  distin- 
guished men.  They  flattered  the  poor  poet  to  such  a 
pitch  that  any  one  but  a  youth  of  twenty-two  would 
have  suspected  that  some  hoax  was  being  plaj'ed  upon 
him.  At  dessert  he  was  made  to  recite  his  ode  on  the 
"Dying  Sardanapalus,"  his  latest  masterpiece.  The 
head-master  of  the  college,  a  phlegmatic  Individual, 
clapped  his  hands  and  said  that  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau 
could  not  have  done  better.  Baron  Sixte  du  Chatelet 
flattered  himself  that  the  little  rhymester  would  sooner 
or  later  wilt  in  this  hot-house  of  praise,  or  else,  intoxi- 
cated with  the  idea  of  coming  fame,  he  would  be  guilty 
of  some  impertinence  which  would  send  him  back  to 
his  original  obscurity.  While  thus  awaiting  the  fall 
of  genius  he  seemed  to  be  immolating  his  own  desires 
to  those  of  Madame  de  Bargeton  ;  but,  with  the  clever- 
ness of  all  scamps,  he  had  formed  a  plan  and  was  fol- 
lowing with  strategic  attention  the  conduct  of  the  two 
lovers,  watching  for  an  occasion  to  exterminate  Lucien. 

From  this  time  forth  there  was  heard  in  Angouleme 
and  its  environs  a  murmured  rumor  of  a  great  man  in 


64  Lost  Illusions. 

their  midst.  Madame  de  Bargeton  was  praised  for  her 
discernment  and  the  attentions  slie  lavished  on  tlie 
young  eagle.  Finding  her  conduct  approved  by  many, 
she  went  further  to  obtain  a  universal  sanction.  She 
announced  throughout  the  department  a  soiree  with 
ices,  cakes,  and  tea, — an  immense  innovation  in  a 
town  where  tea  was  sold  at  the  apothecaries'  as  a  drug 
for  indigestion.  The  flower  of  the  aristocracy  was 
invited  to  hear  a  great  work  which  Lucie n  was  to  read 
aloud.  Louise  concealed  her  conquered  difficulties  from 
her  poet ;  but  she  gave  him  a  few  hints  as  to  the 
cabal  formed  against  him  by  societj' ;  for,  she  said, 
she  did  not  wish  him  to  be  ignorant  of  the  dangers 
which  beset  the  career  of  all  men  of  genius,  and  the 
obstacles  which  are  insurmountable  to  inferior  minds. 
She  made  her  victor3'  the  text  of  a  lesson.  She  talked 
of  the  pyre  of  martyrdom  and  the  glory  won  by  con- 
tinual suffering ;  she  larded  her  sermon  with  pompous 
expressions,  emulating  those  fine  improvisations  which 
disfigure  the  novel  of ''  Corinne."  Louise  felt  so  glorious 
in  her  eloquence  that  she  loved  the  Benjamin  who 
inspired  it  all  the  more.  She  now  advised  him  to 
boldl}'  repudiate  his  father,  and  take  his  motlier's  noble 
name  of  de  Rubempre,  and  pay  no  attention  to  the 
outer}'  excited  b}'  a  change  which  the  king  would 
certainh'  legalize.  Being  related  to  the  Marquise  d'Es- 
pard,  a  demoiselle  de  Beaumont-Chauvry  who  was  held 
in  great  esteem  at  court,  she  promised  to  obtain  this 
regal  favor  for  him.  The  very  words,  "king,"  "Mar- 
quise d'P^spard,"  "court,"  dazzled  Lucien  like  a  dis- 
play of  fireworks,  and  proved  to  him  the  necessity  of 
another  baptism. 


LoHt  Illusions.  G5 

*'  Dear  one,"  said  Louise,  in  a  tenderly  persnasive 
voice,  *•  the  sooner  it  is  done,  the  sooner  it  will  be 
sanctioned." 

She  sliowed  him,  one  after  the  other,  the  snccessive 
strata  of  the  social  world,  and  made  her  poet  count 
how  many  steps  of  the  ladder  he  would  mount  at  once 
through  this  brilliant  determination.  Under  this  influ- 
ence Lucien  abjured  in  an  instant  his  democratic  ideas 
of  the  delusive  equality  of  1793.  Louise  awoke  in  his 
soul  a  thirst  for  distinctions,  which  David's  cool  reason- 
ing had  quieted  ;  she  pointed  out  to  him  that  the  high- 
est society  in  the  land  was  the  onh^  stage  on  which 
he  could  displa}'  his  gifts.  The  bitter  radical  now 
became  monarchical  in  petto  ;  Lucien  ate  of  the  apple 
of  aristocratic  luxury  and  fame.  He  swore  to  lay  a 
crown,  were  it  even  of  thorns,  at  his  lady's  feet ;  he 
would  win  it  at  any  price,  quibiiscumque  viis.  To 
prove  his  courage,  he  revealed  to  Louise  the  real  suffer- 
ings he  had  hitherto  hidden  from  her  with  the  instinct- 
ive reserve  attached  to  our  first  sentiments,  —  a  reserve 
which  is  based  on  a  longing  to  have  our  souls  appreci- 
ated while  yet  incognito.  He  described  to  her  the  pinch- 
ings  of  poverty  proudly  endured,  his  work  in  David's 
printing-house,  his  nights  emplo3'ed  in  study.  This 
youthful  ardor  reminded  Madame  de  Bargeton  of  her 
late  colonel,  and  softened  still  further  the  expression  of 
her  e3'es.  Seeing  that  his  proud  mistress  was  visibl}^ 
relaxing,  Lucien  clasped  the  hand  he  was  allowed  to 
take,  and  kissed  it  with  the  fervor  of  a  poet,  a  young 
man,  and  a  lover.  Louise  even  went  so  far  as  to  allow 
the  son  of  the  apothecar}-  to  touch  her  forehead  and 
apply  his  palpitating  lips  to  it. 

5 


QQ  Lost  Illusions. 

"  Child  !  child  !  "  she  exclaimed,  awaking  from  an  ec- 
static torpor,  "  if  any  one  were  to  see  us,  how  ridiculous 
I  should  seem." 

During  this  evening  Madame  de  Bargeton's  wit  made 
great  inroads  into  what  she  was  pleased  to  call  Lucien's 
prejudices.  To  hear  her,  one  would  suppose  that  men 
of  genius  had  never  had  either  fathers  or  mothers  or 
brothers  or  sisters  ;  the  great  works  they  were  supposed 
to  put  forth  imposed  an  apparent  egotism  upon  them 
which  demanded  the  sacrifice  of  all  things  to  their 
intrinsic  grandeur.  If  their  family  suffered  at  first  from 
the  all-absorbing  exactions  of  their  gigantic  brains, 
later  it  would  receive  back  a  hundred-fold  the  cost  of 
the  sacrifices  made  in  the  first  struggles  of  thwarted 
royalty  b}-  sharing  in  the  fruits  of  the  regal  victory. 
Genius  could  rise  only  in  and  through  itself ;  it  alone 
was  the  judge  of  its  own  methods,  for  it  alone  could 
judge  of  its  ends.  It  was  therefore  right  in  placing  itself 
above  all  laws,  appointed  as  it  w^as  to  reform  them. 
Besides,  whosoever  grasps  his  own  period,  must  seize 
all,  hold  all,  risk  all,  for  all  is  his.  She  cited  the 
opening  lives  of  Bernard  Palissy,  Louis  XI.,  Fox,  Bona- 
parte, Christopher  Columbus,  Caesar,  and  other  illus- 
trious gamblers  in  fortune,  —  men,  in  the  first  instance, 
crippled  with  debt  or  povertj'-stricken,  misunderstood, 
considered  fools,  madmen,  bad  sons,  bad  fathers,  bad 
brothers,  but  who  afterwards  turned  out  the  pride  of 
their  famil}',  their  country-,  and  the  world.  Such  argu- 
ments found  their  abettors  in  Lucien's  inward  vices  ; 
tliey  promoted  tlie  corruption  of  his  heart ;  for,  in  the 
ardor  of  his  desires,  he  admitted  all  means  a  priori. 
Not  to  succeed  is  a  crime  of  social  lesc-majeste.     A 


Lost  Illusions.  67 

beaten  man  has  throttled  to  no  purpose  all  the  common- 
place virtues  on  which  society  rests,  repudiating  with 
horror  the  Marius  who  sits  before  his  ruins.  Lucien, 
unaware  tliat  he  was  placed  between  the  infamy  of  the 
galleys  and  the  laurel  crown  of  genius,  hovered  above 
the  Sinai  of  the  Prophets  without  perceiving  the  Dead 
Sea  below  him  and  the  shroud  of  his  Gomorrha. 

Louise  loosened  the  mind  and  heart  of  her  poet 
from  their  provincial  swaddling-clothes  so  completel}' 
that  Lucien  determined  to  put  her  to  the  proof  and 
discover,  without  the  shame  of  a  refusal,  whether  this 
fine  prize  were  actuall}'  his.  The  projected  party  was 
to  give  him  his  opportunity.  Ambition  mingled  with 
his  love.  He  did  love,  but  he  wished  to  raise  himself; 
a  double  desire  natural  to  30ung  men  who  have  a  heart 
to  satisf}^  and  indigence  to  escape.  Society-,  which  in 
these  days  bids  all  her  children  to  the  same  table, 
awakens  all  ambitions  in  the  dawn  of  life.  It  deprives 
5'outh  of  its  graces,  it  vitiates  generous  sentiments, 
mingling  selfish  calculation  with  all  things.  Poesy 
would  fain  have  it  otherwise  ;  but  the  fact  remains,  and 
denies  so  often  the  fiction  we  desire  to  believe  that  the 
historian  cannot  represent  the  3'oung  man  of  the  nine- 
teenth centur}^  other  than  what  he  is.  Lucien's  selfish 
calculation,  however,  seemed  to  him  tributary'  to  a  fine 
sentiment,  — his  friendship  for  David. 

He  wrote  a  long  letter  to  his  Louise,  for  he  was 
bolder  with  a  pen  in  his  hand  than  by  word  of  mouth. 
In  twelve  pages,  thrice  copied,  he  told  her  of  his 
father's  genius,  his  thwarted  hopes,  and  the  horrible 
povert}'  to  which  he  was  a  victim.  He  pictured  his 
beloved  sister  as  an  angel,  and  David  as  a  future  Cuvier, 


68  Lost  Illusions, 

who  was  father,  brother,  friend  to  him.  lie  should  be, 
he  said,  unworth3'  of  the  love  of  his  own  Louise  if  he 
did  not  ask  her  to  do  for  David  what  she  was  read}'  to 
do  for  him ;  na}-,  he  would  renounce  all  rather  than 
desert  David,  —  David  must  be  a  sharer  in  his  success. 
In  sliort,  he  wrote  one  of  those  absurd  letters  in  which 
young  men  point  a  pistol  at  refusal ;  juvenile  in  their 
casuistr}'  and  filled  with  the  inconsequent  logic  of  noble 
sonls  ;  delightful  verbiage  dashed  with  ingenuous  de- 
clarations of  love  escaping  unconsciousl}'  from  the 
heart  of  the  writer,  and  precious  to  that  of  the  woman 
who  receives  them. 

Having  delivered  this  letter  to  Bladame  de  Barge- 
ton's  maid,  Lucien  went  to  the  printing-office  and  spent 
the  day  in  correcting  proof,  directing  certain  work  and 
putting  in  order  various  small  matters  of  the  business, 
saying  nothing  of  his  own  affairs  to  David.  Wiiile  the 
heart  is  still  childlike  3'oung  men  preserve  this  reti- 
cence. Besides,  Lucien  had  begun  to  dread  Pliocion's 
axe,  which  David  knew  well  how  to  wield  ;  perhaps, 
too,  he  feared  the  clearness  of  an  eye  which  could  look 
to  the  depths  of  his  soul.  But  reading  with  David 
those  poems  of  Chenier,  his  secret  passed  from  his 
heart  to  his  lips,  stung  by  a  reproach  which  he  felt  as  a 
patient  feels  the  finger  a  surgeon  lays  upon  his  wound. 


Lost  Illusions,  69 


III. 

AN    EVEXING    IN    SOCIETY. 

Imagine  now  the  thoughts  which  assailed  Lucien  as 
he  went  from  the  office  to  his  suburban  home.  Would 
the  great  lady  be  angr}- with  him?  AVould  she  receive 
David?  Had  he  not  doomed  himself  forever  to  obscu- 
rity by  that  letter  ?  Though  Lucien,  before  reaching  the 
point  of  kissing  Louise  on  the  forehead,  had  had  full 
opportunity  to  judge  of  the  distance  between  a  queen 
and  her  favorite,  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that  David 
could  not  jump  in  a  moment  over  a  social  distance  it 
had  taken  him  five  months  to  cross.  Ignorant  of  the 
ostracism  enforced  against  persons  of  no  account,  he 
did  not  see  that  a  second  attempt  to  introduce  such 
persons  would  end  in  the  loss  to  Madame  de  Barge- 
ton  of  her  own  position.  Accused  and  convicted  of 
preferring  low  companv,  Louise  would  have  to  leave 
the  town,  where  her  caste  would  avoid  her  as  in  the 
middle- ages  men  fled  from  a  leper.  The  clan  of  aris- 
tocracy, and  the  clerg}'  themselves  would  protect  Nais 
from  and  against  all  attack  were  she  guilty  of  conjugal 
infidelity,  but  the  crime  of  receiving  her  social  inferiors 
would  never  be  forgiven  ;  for  it  is  a  maxim  that  if  the 
faults  of  one  in  power  may  be  excused,  they  are  pun- 
ished in  case  of  abdication.  Now  to  receive  David  was 
virtually  to  abdicate. 


70  Lost  Illusions. 

Although  Lucien  did  not  see  this  side  of  the  question, 
his  aristocratic  instinct  made  him  conscious  of  certain 
other  difficulties  which  alarmed  him.  Nobilit}'  of  soul 
does  not  alwa3s  carrj'  with  it  nobility  of  manners.  If 
Racine  had  the  air  of  a  finished  courtier,  Corneille  was 
more  like  a  cattle-dealer.  Descartes'  appearance  was 
that  of  a  stolid  Dutch  merchant,  and  visitors  to  Breda, 
meeting  Montesquieu  with  a  rake  on  his  shoulder,  often 
took  him  for  a  gardener.  The  manners  of  good  societ}', 
when  they  are  not  a  gift  of  birth,  an  acquisition  sucked 
in  with  the  milk,  or  transmitted  in  the  blood,  are  the 
result  of  education,  which  accident  often  seconds  hy  na- 
tive elegance  of  form,  distinction  of  feature,  or  tones  of 
the  voice.  Such  great  little  accessories  were  lacking  in 
David,  while  nature  had  endowed  Lucien  with  all  of 
them.  Born  a  gentleman  through  his  mother,  he  had 
the  signs  of  breeding,  even  to  the  arched  instep  of  a 
Frank ;  whereas  David  Sechard  was  flat-footed  as  a 
Gaul,  and  clumsy  as  his  father  the  pressman.  Lucien 
foresaw  the  ridicule  that  would  rain  upon  David  ;  he 
even  fancied  he  could  see  the  smile  which  Madame 
de  Bargeton  would  repress.  Without  being  actually 
ashamed  of  his  friend  he  resolved  not  to  let  this  first 
impulse  defeat  him,  but  to  leave  it  for  future  discus- 
sion. Thus,  after  an  hour  of  poetry  and  devotion,  after 
reading  Andre  Chenier  and  beholding  with  his  friend 
new  fields  of  literary  possil)ilities  lighted  b}'  a  new  sun, 
Lucien  dropped  back  into  social  policy  and  calculation. 
As  he  walked  back  to  1' Hon  mean  he  repented  his  letter 
and  wished  he  could  recover  it ;  the  })itiless  laws  of  so- 
ciety came  in  a  flash  before  his  mind.  Kemembering  how 
acquired  fortune  would  promote  even  a  poet's  ambition, 


Lost  lllusio7i8.  71 

he  could  not  endure  to  take  his  foot  from  the  first  rung 
of  the  ladder  b}'  which  he  was  to  mount  to  greatness. 
But  soon  the  recollections  of  a  simple,  tranquil  life,  made 
beautiful  with  the  flowers  of  feeling ;  of  David,  that 
soul  of  genius,  who  had  nobly  succored  him  and  would, 
if  need  be,  give  him  his  very  life  ;  of  his  mother,  a  true 
great  lady  in  her  humble  condition,  who  thought  him 
as  good  as  he  was  brilliant ;  of  his  sister,  so  graceful 
in  her  sacrifice  ;  of  his  own  pure  childhood,  his  spotless 
conscience,  his  hopes  that  no  keen  wind  had  yet  de- 
flowered, —  all  these  tilings  blossomed  in  his  memor}'. 
Then,  indeed,  he  told  himself  it  was  finer  to"  break  the 
serried  ranks  of  the  social  herd  b}'  the  force  of  his  own 
success  than  owe  his  entrance  to  a  woman.  The  light 
of  his  genius  would  shine,  sooner  or  later,  like  that  of 
other  men,  his  predecessors  in  the  path  of  fame,  who 
had  conquered  society.  \Yomen  woukl  love  him  then  ! 
The  example  of  Napoleon,  fatal  in  the  earl}'  part  of  the 
nineteenth  century  to  commonplace  minds  by  inspiring 
them  with  pretensions  they  could  not  fulfiL  appeared  in 
all  its  glor}'  to  Lucien,  who  flung  his  "calculations  to 
the  wind  and  blamed  himself  for  making  them.  Such 
was  Lucien,  going  from  evil  to  good  and  from  good  to 
evil  with  equal  facilit}'. 

For  the  last  month  he  had  felt  a  sort  of  shame  in 
reading  over  the  door  of  the  shop  above  which  he  lived  : 
"  Postel,  apothecary',  successor  to  Chardon,"  painted 
in  yellow  letters  on  a  green  ground.  The  name  of  his 
father  thus  exposed  in  a  thoroughfare  traversed  by  all 
the  carriages  of  Angouleme  distressed  him.  On  the 
evening  when  he  left  the  door  of  his  house  (ornamented 
with  an  iron  grating  in  the  worst  taste),  to  appear  at 


72  Lost  Illusions. 

Beaulieu  among  the  c4egant  3'oung  men  of  the  town 
with  Madame  de  Bargeton  on  his  arm,  he  was  particu- 
larl}'  anno3'ed  by  the  obvious  discrepancy  between  his 
dwelhng  and  his  new  prospects. 

"  To  love  Madame  de  Bargeton,  to  win  her  love,  and 
live  in  such  a  rat-hole !  "  he  thought,  issuing  from  the 
alley  into  a  little  yard  where  scraps  of  vegetables  were 
scattered  about,  where  the  office-boy  was  cleaning  the 
laborator}'  utensils,  where  Monsieur  Postel,  girt  with 
his  working  apron,  retort  in  hand,  was  examining  some 
chemical  product,  keeping  watch  meanwhile  upon  the 
shop  ;  for  if  his  e3'es  were  fixed  upon  the  drugs,  his 
ears  were  attentive  to  the  bell.  The  odor  of  camomile, 
peppermint,  and  other  distiUed  herbs  filled  the  court- 
yard and  penetrated  to  the  modest  apartment  above  the 
shop,  which  was  reached  by  one  of  those  straight,  nar- 
row stairways  called  millers'  stairs,  without  other  balus- 
ters than  a  couple  of  ropes.  Above  this  apartment  was 
a  single  attic  room,  where  Lucien  slept. 

"  Good-morning,  my  lad,"  said  Monsieur  Postel, 
the  true  type  of  a  country'  shopkeeper;  "how  are  you 
feeling?  As  for  me,  1  have  been  making  experiments 
with  treacle  ;  but  it  would  take  ^our  father  to  find  what 
I've  been  looking  for.  He  was  a  wonderful  man,  he 
was  !  If  I  had  known  his  secret  against  gout,  we  miglit 
both  be  rolling  in  our  carriages  now." 

There  was  never  a  week  that  the  apothecary,  as 
stupid  as  he  was  kind,  did  not  stab  Lucien  to  the  heart 
with  some  remark  about  the  fatal  discretion  with  which 
his  father  had  kept  the  secret  of  his  discovery. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  great  misfortune,"  replied  Lucien, 
curtl}',  for  he  was  beginning  to  think  his  father's  pupil 


Lost  Illusions,  73 

extremely  vulgar,  after  manj'  a  time  blessing  him  ;  for 
the  worth}'  Postel  had  succored  more  than  once  the 
widow  and  children  of  his  late  master. 

''  What's  the  matter?"  asked  Monsieur  Postel,  la}*- 
ing  his  gauge  on  the  laborator}'  table. 

"  Has  any  letter  come  for  me?" 

"  Yes,  and  it  smells  like  balm.  It  is  there  on  the 
counter,  near  m\'  desk." 

Madame  de  Bargeton's  letter  to  be  lying  in  a  chemical 
mess  !     Lueien  sprang  into  the  shop. 

"Make  haste,  Lueien,  your  dinner  has  been  ready 
some  time  ;  it  is  getting  cold,"  cried  a  sweet  voice, 
which  Lueien  did  not  heed,  through  a  half-opened 
window. 

"Your  brother  is  a  bit  crazed,  mademoiselle,"  said 
Postel,  looking  up  at  the  window. 

This  bachelor,  who  closely  resembled  a  small  keg  of 
brandy  above  which  an  artist  had  painted  a  large  face 
pitted  with  the  small-pox  and  ver}-  crimson,  gazed  at 
Eve  with  a  polite  and  ceremonious  air,  which  showed 
that  he  thought  of  marrying  the  daughter  of  his  prede- 
cessor, though  a  struggle  of  love  and  self-interest  was 
still  going  on  within  him.  He  often  remarked  to  Lueien, 
with  a  smile,  and  he  now  repeated  the  observation  as 
Lueien  passed  him  with  his  letter:  "Your  sister  is 
mighty  prettj' !  you  are  not  bad-looking  yourself;  your 
father  did  things  well.*' 

Eve  was  a  tall,  dark  girl,  with  black  hair  and  blue 
e3'es.  Although  she  showed  several  signs  of  a  virile 
character  she  was  personally  gentle,  tender,  and  devoted. 
Her  frankness,  her  naivete,  her  tranquil  resignation  to 
a  hard-working  life,  the  propriety  of  her  conduct,  which 


74  Lost  Illusions. 

no  gossip  ever  slaudered,  had  won  the  heart  of  David 
Sechard.  From  their  ver}'  lirst  interview  a  secret 
natural  passion  had  stirred  their  souls,  as  it  does 
among  Germans,  without  manifestation  or  importunate 
declaration.  Each  thought  secretly  of  the  otlier,  as 
though  the}'  were  separated  by  the  existence  of  a  hus- 
band whom  such  sentiments  might  offend.  Both  hid 
their  feelings  from  Lucien  ;  and  it  is  not  unlikely  that 
the}'  thought  their  regard  for  each  other  was  a  wrong 
done  to  him. 

David  was  afraid  of  not  pleasing  Eve,  who,  on  her 
side,  had  many  of  the  timidities  of  poverty.  A  born 
working-woman,  a  grisette,  would  have  been  bolder, 
but  a  girl  brought  up  in  other  circumstances  and  now 
deprived  of  them  had  taught  herself  to  conform  to  her 
fate.  Humble  apparently,  proud  in  realit}',  Eve  would 
not  allow  herself  to  attract  the  son  of  a  rich  man.  Those 
who  were  knowing  in  the  rise  of  values  estimated  old 
Se'chard's  domain  of  Marsac  at  eight}'  thousand  francs, 
not  counting  other  property  which  the  old  man,  rich 
by  saving,  lucky  in  acquiring,  and  clever  at  buying, 
added  from  time  to  time  as  occasion  offered.  David 
was,  perhaps,  the  only  man  who  knew  nothing  about 
his  father's  wealth.  To  him,  Marsac  was  a  poor  place, 
bought  in  1810  for  fifteen  thousand  francs,  where  he 
went  once  a  year  during  the  harvest,  on  which  occa- 
sions his  father  marched  liim  up  and  down  among  the 
vines  and  boasted  of  their  profits,  which  the  printer 
did  not  see  and  as  to  which  he  never  concerned  himself. 

The  love  of  a  man  accustomed  to  solitude  and  with- 
drawn into  habits  of  study  needs  encouragement,  for 
such  a  life  only  deepens   sentiment   and   exaggerates 


Lost  Ilhmons.  75 

difficult3\  To  David,  Eve  was  a  far  more  imposing 
woman  than  the  greatest  lad}'  to  a  simple  clerk.  Awk- 
ward and  uneasj'  in  her  presence,  as  eager  to  get  away 
as  he  had  been  to  come  there,  the  printer  was  repress- 
ing his  passion  instead  of  expressing  it.  Often,  after 
inventing  some  pretext  of  consulting  Lncien,  he  would 
go  down  to  THoumeau  in  the  evening ;  but  no  sooner 
had  he  reached  the  house  with  the  green  door  than  he 
turned  and  fled  awa}',  fearing  to  have  come  too  late, 
or  to  seem  to  importune  his  love,  who  was,  perhaps, 
alread}'  in  bed.  Although  this  great  love  was  shown  in 
small  ways  onl}',  Eve  had  full}'  understood  it.  She  was 
gratified,  but  not  exalted,  by  feeling  herself  the  object 
of  the  deep  respect  conveyed  in  the  looks,  the  words, 
the  manners  of  her  lover  ;  but  David's  strongest  attrac- 
tion was  his  fanaticism  for  Lucien ;  instinctivel}',  he 
had  guessed  the  means  of  pleasing  Eve.  If  we  must 
say  in  what  the  mute  delights  of  their  love  differed  from 
the  tumultuous  jo3's  of  passion,  we  must  compare  them 
to  the  flowers  of  the  field  contrasted  with  the  dazzling 
beds  of  a  garden.  Soft,  shy  glances,  like  the  blue 
lotos  floating  on  a  lake  ;  expressions  murmured,  like  the 
fitful  fragrance  of  the  eglantine ;  tender  sadness,  soft 
as  the  velvet  of  the  mosses  ;  the  native  flowers  of  two 
fine  souls  born  in  rich  soil,  fruitful,  perennial,  —  such 
were  their  joys  of  love.  Eve  had  so  often  felt  the 
power  beneath  this  seeming  weakness,  she  knew  so  well 
the  hopes  that  David  dared  not  as  yet  express,  that 
the  slightest  incident  might  now  produce  a  closer  union 
of  their  hearts. 

Lucien  found  the  door  opened  for  him  by  Eve,  and 
he  sat  down,  without  a  word  to  her,  at  a  httle  table 


76  Lost  Illusions. 

where  his  knife  and  fork  were  laid.  There  was  no 
tablecloth,  and  the  poor  little  household  owned  but 
three  silver  forks.  Eve  emploj'ed  them  all  in  the  ser- 
vice of  this  dear  brother. 

"  What  are  you  reading?"  she  said,  after  setting  on 
the  table  a  dish  she  had  taken  from  a  heater  and  put- 
ting out  the  flame  with  an  extinguislier. 

Lucien  did  not  answer.  Eve  brought  a  little  plate 
daintil}'  arranged  with  vine-leaves  and  placed  it  on  the 
table  with  a  jug  of  cream. 

"  See,  Lucien,  I  have  got  3'ou  some  strawberries." 

Lucien  was  so  absorbed  in  his  letter  that  he  did  not 
hear  her.  Eve  then  sat  down  beside  him  without  a 
murmur ;  for  in  the  feeling  of  a  sister  for  her  brother 
there  is  a  powerful  element  of  pleasure  in  being  treated 
without  consideration. 

"But  what  troubles  3'Ou ? "  she  cried  suddenh',  as 
the  tears  glittered  in  his  ej'es. 

"Nothing,  nothing.  Eve,"  he  said,  taking  her  round 
the  waist  and  drawing  her  close  to  him  as  he  kissed  her 
forehead  and  hair  and  then  her  neck  with  surprising 
effusion. 

"  You  are  hiding  something  from  me." 

"  Well,  then,  she  loves  me  !  " 

"I  knew  you  were  not  kissing  me,"  she  said,  \\\  a 
pouting  tone,  and  coloring. 

"  Wc  shall  all  be  happy,"  cried  Lucien,  swallowing 
his  soup  in  great  gulps. 

"We?"  queried  Eve.  Tiien  inspired  by  the  same 
presentiment  which  liad  seized  upon  David,  she  added, 
"  You  will  love  us  loss." 

"  How  can  3'ou  think  so  —  you  who  know  me?  " 


Lost  Illusions.  77 

Eve  stretched  out  her  hand  and  pressed  Lucien's. 
Then  she  removed  his  empt}-  plate  and  the  earthenware 
tureen,  and  put  before  him  the  dish  she  had  cooked  for 
his  dinner.  Instead  of  eating  it  Lucien  reread  Madame 
de  Bargeton's  letter,  which  the  discreet  Eve  did  not  ask 
to  see,  so  great  was  her  deference  to  her  brother  ;  if  he 
wished  her  to  see  it  she  could  wait ;  if  he  did  hot  wish 
it,  wliy  should  she  require  it?  So  she  waited.  Here 
is  the  letter :  — 

My  Friend,  —  How  can  I  deny  to  your  brother  in  science 
the  assistance  that  I  have  given  to  you  ?  In  my  eyes,  all  tal- 
ents have  equal  rights.  But  you  are  not  aware  of  the  preju- 
dices of  those  who  form  my  society.  We  cannot  make  nobility 
of  mind  acceptable  to  those  who  are  the  aristocracy  of  igno- 
rance. But  if  I  am  not  powerful  enough  to  force  them  to 
receive  Monsieur  David  Sechard  I  will  gladly  make  you  the 
sacrifice  of  their  acquaintance.  It  shall  be  like  a  hecatomb 
of  antiquity. 

But,  dear  friend,  you  will  not,  of  course,  require  me  to 
accept  the  acquaintance  of  a  man  whose  mind  and  manners 
may  not  please  me  personally.  Your  flatteries  have  long 
taught  me  that  yom-  friendship  may  be  bhnd.  You  will  not, 
I  am  sure,  be  angiy  if  I  add  a  condition  to  my  consent.  I 
wish  to  see  your  friend,  to  judge  him,  and  know  for  myself, 
in  the  interests  of  your  future,  whether  or  not  you  can  rely 
upon  him.  This  is  one  of  those  maternal  precautions  which 
ought  to  be  taken  for  you,  my  dear  poet,  by 

Louise  de  Xegrepelisse. 

Lucien  was  utterly  ignorant  of  the  art  with  which  the 
great  world  uses  "3-es"  when  it  means  "no"  and  vice 
versa.  He  regarded  this  letter  as  a  triumph.  David 
would  go  to  Madame  de  Bargeton's  salon,  and  shine  in 
all  the  majesty  of  genius.     In  the  intoxication  of  a  vie- 


78  Lost  Illusions. 

tory  which  made  him  believe  in  the  power  of  his  ascend- 
ency over  others,  he  took,  unconsciously,  so  prouti  an 
attitude,  his  face  reflected  so  many  hopes  with  so  daz- 
zling a  radiance  that  his  sister  could  not  help  exclaim- 
ing that  he  was  beautiful. 

"If  she  has  any  mind  at  all,  —  that  woman,  — she 
must  love  3'ou ;  and  to-night  she  will  be  made  unhappj- 
enough,  for  I  am  sure  all  the  other  women  will  court 
3'Ou.  How  handsome  you  will  look  when  you  read 
them  your  *  Saint  John  at  Patmos.'  I  wish  I  were  a 
mouse  and  could  slip  in  after  you.  Come,  I  have  your 
evening  clothes  all  read}'  in  mother's  room." 

This  room  was  one  of  decent  povert}'.  It  contained 
a  walnut  bedstead  with  white  curtains,  and  a  strip  of 
green  carpet  beside  it.  On  the  bureau  was  a  mirror ; 
and  a  few  chairs,  also  of  walnut,  completed  the  furni- 
ture. On  the  mantelshelf  was  a  clock  which  recalled 
the  days  of  departed  comfort.  The  window  had  white 
curtains.  The  walls  were  hung  with  a  gra}-  paper,  gra}'- 
flowered.  The  floor  tiles,  colored  and  rubbed  by  Eve, 
shone  with  cleanliness.  In  the  middle  of  the  room 
stood  a  round  table,  where,  on  a  red  traj'  with  gilt 
rosettes,  were  three  cups  and  saucers  and  a  sugar  basin 
of  Limoges  ware.  Eve  slept  in  a  small  adjoining  room 
or  closet,  which  contained  a  narrow  bed,  an  old  sofa, 
and  a  work-table  near  the  window.  The  narrowness 
of  this  ship's  cabin,  as  it  might  be  called,  required  that 
the  door  should  stand  open  in  order  to  give  it  air. 
Though  povert}'  was  visible  in  everything,  the  modest}' 
of  a  studious  life  was  in  the  atmosphere.  To  those  ^ho 
knew  the  mother  and  her  two  children,  the  scene  was 
full  of  tender  harmonies. 


Lout  Illusions.  79 

Lncien  was  putting  on  his  cravat  when  David's  step 
w-as  heard  in  the  little  courtyard,  and  the  printer  pres- 
ently appeared  with  the  manner  of  a  man  who  had  come 
in  haste. 

"  AVell,  David,"  cried  Lucien,  "  we  have  triumphed  ; 
she  loves  me  ;  3'ou  are  to  go." 

''  No,"  said  the  printer,  with  an  embarrassed  air  ;  "I 
have  come  to  thank  you  for  that  proof  of  friendship, 
about  which  I  have  reflected  seriously.  My  life,  Lu- 
cien is  settled.  I  am  David  Sechard,  printer  to  the 
king  in  Angouleme  ;  the  name  is  read  on  the  walls  and 
posters  and  advertisements.  To  persons  of  IMadame 
de  Bargeton's  caste  I  am  an  artisan,  a  merchant  if  3'OU 
prefer  it,  but  at  any  rate,  a  working-man,  with  a  shop, 
rue  de  Beaulieu,  at  the  corner  of  the  place  du  Miirier. 
I  have  n't  the  fortune  of  a  Keller,  nor  the  fame  of  a 
Desplein,  —  two  sorts  of  powers  which  the  nobles  still 
endeavor  to  ignore  and  which  (I  agree  with  the  nobles 
here)  are  of  no  account  without  the  manners  and  knowl- 
edge of  life  of  a  gentleman.  What  would  justify  me 
in  stepping  up  in  this  wa}'?  I  should  simph'be  laughed 
at,  b}'  the  bourgeois  as  well  as  by  the  nobles.  Your 
position  is  different.  As  a  clerk  you  are  committed  to 
nothing.  You  can  make  acquaintances  and  choose 
some  other  way  of  life  to-morrow  ;  you  can  stud}'  law, 
or  diplomac}',  or  enter  a  government  office.  Profit  by 
your  social  virginity,  walk  alone  and  lay  your  grip  upon 
honors.  Enjo}"  all  pleasures  joyousl}',  even  those  of 
gratified  vanit}'.  Be  happ}',  and  I  shall  be  happ}'  in 
your  success,  — you  will  be  to  me  a  second  self.  Yes, 
m}'  thought  will  make  me  live  in  3'our  career.  To  you 
the  banquets  of  life,  the  glory  of  this  world,  and  the  rapid 


80  Lost  Illusions, 

results  of  its  strateg}- ;  to  me  the  sober,  laborious  life  of 
a  tradesman,  and  the  slow  occupations  of  science.  You 
shall  be  our  aristocrac}',"  he  added,  with  a  smile,  looking 
at  Eve.  "  AVhen  3'ou  totter  my  arm  shall  be  read}'  to 
support  you.  If  you  meet  with  treachery-  take  refuge 
in  our  hearts  ;  their  love  is  unchangeable.  Should  you 
try  to  divide  between  yourself  and  me  the  protection, 
favor,  and  good-will  of  these  great  persons,  you  ma}' 
weary  them,  and  we  shall  simply  have  injured  each 
other.  No,  go  your  way,  —  it  is  before  you;  we  will 
not  be  a  drag  upon  you.  Far  from  envying  your  ca- 
reer, I  devote  myself  to  it.  What  you  have  just  done 
for  me  —  I  mean  in  risking  the  favor  of  your  benefac- 
tress rather  than  leave  me  or  seem  to  turn  your  back 
upon  me  — just  that  simple  thing,  Lucien,  is  so  grand 
that  it  would  bind  me  to  you  for  life  if  we  were  not  al- 
ready brothers.  Have  no  remorse  or  doubt  in  taking 
the  higher  place.  Even  if  you  cause  me  anxiety,  per- 
haps I  shall  still  be  your  debtor."  As  he  said  these 
words  he  glanced  timidly  at  Eve,  whose  eyes  were  full 
of  tears,  for  she  guessed  all.  "  Besides,"  he  added  to 
Lucien,  who  was  much  surprised,  "  you  are  handsome 
and  well  made,  your  figure  is  fine,  you  wear  your 
clothes  with  an  air,  you  look  like  a  gentleman  in  that 
blue  coat  with  brass  buttons  and  those  nankeen 
trousers.  As  for  me,  I  should  look  like  a  workman 
among  all  those  fine  people.  I  should  be  awkward, 
embarrassed,  and  say  eitlier  foolish  things  or  nothing 
at  all.  If  you  choose  to  yield  to  the  prejudice  of  nnmes 
and  take  that  of  your  mother  you  can  call  yourself  Lu- 
cien de  Rubempro  ;  but  I  am  and  ever  shall  be  David 
S^chard.     lOverything  will   serve  you  and   everything 


Lost  Illusions,  81 

would  injure  me  in  tlie  world  where  3-011  are  going. 
You  are  born  to  succeed  in  it.  For  one  thing,  the 
women  will  adore  that  angelic  face  of  yours  —  won't 
they,  Eve?" 

Lucien  fell  on  David's  neck  and  kissed  him.  His 
friend's  modesty  solved  all  doubts,  all  difficulties.  How 
could  he  help  showing  a  redoubled  love  for  the  man 
who  made,  out  of  friendship,  the  same  reflections  he 
had  just  made  out  of  ambition.  The  ambitious  lover 
felt  that  the  road  was  levelled  for  him,  and  his  heart 
glowed.  It  was  one  of  those  rare  moments  in  life  when 
the  cords  of  being  are  gently  stretched,  and  rich  sounds 
come  from  their  vibration.  But  the  loyal  wisdom 
of  this  noble  soul  increased  in  Lucien  a  tendency 
that  exists,  more  or  less,  in  all  men  to  centre  every- 
thing upon  himself.  We  all  feel  as  Louis  XIV.  said : 
"The  State,  it  is  I."  The  exclusive  tenderness  of  his 
mother  and  sister,  David's  devotion,  the  habit  of  seeing 
himself  the  one  object  of  these  three  persons,  gave  him 
the  vices  of  an  elder  son  and  produced  in  him  the  selfish 
egotism  which  ruins  a  young  noble,  and  which  Madame 
de  Bargeton  fostered  by  inciting  him  to  resign  his  name 
and  his  obligations  towards  his  mother,  sister,  and 
David.  This  point,  was  not  yet  reached,  however  ;  but 
it  was  to  be  feared  that  the  widening  of  the  circle  of  his 
ambition,  promoted  by  his  friends,  soon  would  constrain 
him  to  think  only  of  himself. 

AYhen  their  emotion  had  passed  off,  David  remarked 
to  Lucien  that  his  poem  of  "  Saint  John  at  Patmos  "  was 
rather  too  Biblical  to  be  read  before  a  company  who 
probably  knew  little  of  apocalyptic  poetiy.  Lucien, 
who   feared   his   audience,   grew   uneasy.      David    ad- 

6 


82  Lost  Illusions. 

vised  him  to  take  the  volume  of  Andre  Chenier  with 
him  and  change  a  doubtful  pleasure  into  a  certain  one ; 
Lucien  read  admirably ;  he  could  not  help  delighting  an 
audience,  and  his  modesty  in  choosing  another  poet 
would  be  put  to  his  credit.  Like  most  3'oung  men  he 
believed  in  the  intelligence  and  virtue  of  persons  of 
rank.  If  3'outh  which  has  never  sinned  is  without 
mere}'  for  the  known  sins  of  others  it  also  attributes  to 
others  its  own  magnificent  faiths.  We  must  experience 
life  before  we  recognize  that,  as  Raffaelle  fineh'  said, 
comprehension  alone  makes  us  equal  to  it.  As  a  gen- 
eral thing,  the  sense  of  poes}'  required  for  a  full  under- 
standing of  the  art  is  rare  in  France,  where  wit  and 
intellect  dvy  up  the  sacred  sources  of  the  tears  of 
ecstasy,  where  none  will  take  the  pains  of  deciphering 
the  sublime,  of  sounding  sublimity  in  search  of  the 
infinite.  Lucien  was  about  to  meet  his  first  experience 
of  the  ignorance  and  coldness  of  social  life.  He  took 
the  volume  of  Andre'  Chenier  with  him. 

When  Eve  and  David  were  alone  together  the  lover 
became  more  embarrassed  than  at  an}'  previous  mo- 
ment of  his  life.  Oppressed  b}-  many  fears,  he  desired 
and  dreaded  approval ;  he  longed  to  get  away,  for  shy- 
ness has  a  coquetry  of  its  own.  The  poor  lover  dared 
not  sa}'  a  word  which  might  seem  to  ask  for  thanks  ; 
all  words  appeared  to  him  compromising,  and  therefore 
he  kept  silence  with  the  air  of  a  criminal.  Eve,  who 
instinctively  understood  the  tortures  of  his  shyness, 
found  pleasure  in  this  silence ;  but  when  David  twisted 
his  hat  as  if  to  go,  she  smiled. 

"  Monsieur  David,"  she  said  ;  "as  you  are  not  going 
to  pass  the  evening  at  Madame  de  Bargeton's,  we  might 


Lost  Illusions.  83 

spend  it  together.  It  is  so  fine,  suppose  we  take  a  walk 
along  the  Charente  ;  we  coukl  talk  of  Lucien." 

David  had  a  momentaiy  idea  of  prostrating  himself 
before  that  enchanting  girl,  ^vho  had  put  into  her  voice 
certain  tones  of  hope  rewarded.  By  the  tenderness  of 
those  tones  she  meant  to  solve  the  difficulties  of  the 
situation.  Her  proposal  was  more  than  a  flatter}',  it 
was  love's  first  favor. 

*'  But,"  she  said,  seeing  David's  gesture,  "  give  me 
time  to  dress." 

David,  who  never  in  his  life  had  known  what  it  was 
to  turn  a  tune,  went  out  into  the  court3-ard  singing, 
which  greatly  surprised  the  worth}'  Postel  and  gave 
him  dark  suspicions  as  to  the  relations  between  Eve 
and  the  printer. 

The  slightest  circumstances  of  this  momentous  even- 
ing acted  powerfully  upon  Lucien,  whose  character  was 
greatly  influenced  b}"  first  impressions.  Like  all  inex- 
perienced lovers  he  arrived  so  earlv  that  Louise  was 
not  yet  in  the  salon.  Monsieur  de  Bargeton  was  there 
alone.  Lucien  had  already  begun  his  apprenticeship  in 
the  pett}'  meannesses  by  which  the  lover  of  a  married 
woman  buys  his  happiness  (which  give  a  woman  the 
measure  of  those  she  may  exact)  but  he  had  never  yet 
been  alone  with  Monsieur  de  Bargeton. 

That  gentleman  had  one  of  those  small  minds  that 
are  mildly  interposed  between  an  offensive  nullity  which 
understands  to  some  extent,  and  an  arrogant  stupidity 
which  receives  nothing  and  returns  nothing.  Full  of 
his  duties  to  society,  and  striving  to  make  himself 
agreeable  in  it,  he  had  adopted  the  smile  of  a  dancer 


84  Lost  Ilhisions. 

before  the  footlights  as  his  onW  language.  Pleased  or 
displeased,  he  smiled,  —  smiled  at  disastrous  news  as 
he  smiled  at  good  news.  That  smile  answered  all  pur- 
poses through  the  expressions  that  Monsieur  de  Barge- 
ton  gave  to  it.  If  direct  approbation  was  absolutel}- 
required  he  added  a  complacent  laugh,  using  language 
onl}'  in  the  last  extremit}'.  A  tete-a-tete  was  the  onl}' 
situation  of  his  vegetable  life  which  caused  him  embar- 
rassment, for  he  was  then  obliged  to  search  in  the  im- 
mensity of  his  inward  vacuum  for  something  to  say. 
Generally  he  escaped  this  difficulty  by  having  recourse 
to  the  naive  ways  of  his  childhood  ;  he  thought  aloud  ; 
he  revealed  every  detail  of  his  life,  and  expressed  all 
his  wants  and  sensations,  which,  to  him,  took  the  place 
of  ideas.  He  never  talked  of  the  weather,  or  the  usual 
commonplaces  of  conversation  in  which  fools  take 
refuge,  he  went  straight  to  the  most  private  affairs  of 
life.  "  To  please  Madame  de  Bargeton,"  he  would  sa}', 
"I  ate  veal  this  morning  for  breakfast;  she  likes  it, 
but  m}'  stomach  aches  in  consequence.  I  knew  how  it 
would  be,  I  am  always  taken  so ;  can  you  explain  it?" 
Or  he  would  remark.  "  I  shall  ring  for  a  glass  of  eau 
sucree,  will  you  have  one?"  or,  "I  shall  ride  out  on 
horseback  to-morrow ;  I  want  to  see  my  father-in-law." 
These  little  remarks,  which  involved  no  discussion, 
required  only  a  yes  or  no,  and  the  conversation  dropped. 
Monsieur  de  Bargeton  would  then  implore  assistance, 
turning  his  nose  to  you  like  a  wlioozy  pug,  and  gazing 
in  your  face  with  his  prominent  blear\-  eyes  in  a  way 
that  seem  to  query,  "What  did  you  say?"  lie  cher- 
ished the  bores  who  talked  of  themselves,  and  listened 
to  them  with  a  loyal,  delicate  attention  which  made  him 


Lost  Illusions.  85 

so  dear  to  the  gabblers  of  Angouleme  that  they  vaunted 
his  intellect  and  declared  it  was  underrated.  When 
they  could  find  no  other  listeners  these  folk  would  fall 
back  on  Monsieur  de  Bargeton  and  tell  him  their  tales 
or  pursue  their  arguments,  sure  of  receiving  his  approv- 
ing smile.  His  wife's  salon  being  always  full,  he  liked 
to  be  there,  and  was  usually  at  his  ease.  He  busied 
himself  in  the  smallest  details ;  watched  who  came 
in,  bowed,  smiled,  and  presented  all  strangers  to  his 
wife.  He  met  those  who  were  leaving,  conducted  them 
to  the  door,  and  received  their  parting  words  with  the 
same  eternal  smile.  When  the  party  was  ga}'  and  he 
saw  every  one  well  employed,  he  would  stand  mutel}', 
planted  on  his  two  long  legs  like  a  stork,  apparently 
listening  to  a  political  conversation  (of  which  he  heard 
not  a  word),  or  studying  the  cards  of  a  player  without 
understanding  the  game  (for  he  knew  none),  or  else  he 
walked  about  snuflSng  tobacco,  and  trying  to  work  off 
his  indigestion.  Anais  was  the  one  happiness  of  his 
life ;  she  gave  him  infinite"  enjoyment.  When  she 
played  her  part  as  mistress  of  the  house  he  lay  back  in 
his  easy  chair  and  admired  her  —  she  was  talking  for 
him.  He  took  pleasure  in  searching  out  the  meaning 
of  her  sentences,  and  as  it  frequenth'  came  to  him  long 
after  they  were  uttered,  his  smiles  would  often  explode 
unexpectedly,  like  torpedoes  that  have  been  buried  in 
the  ground.  His  respect  for  his  wife  amounted  to  ado- 
ration ;  and,  we  may  ask,  is  not  adoration,  of  whatever 
kind  it  be,  suflScient  to  make  the  happiness  of  a  life? 
Anais,  who  was  generous  and  intelligent,  had  not  abused 
her  power,  recognizing  in  her  husband  the  facile  nature 
of  a  child,  which  asks  nothing  better  than  to  be  gov- 


86  Lost  Illusions, 

ernecl.  She  had  taken  care  of  him  as  she  would  of  a 
mantle ;  she  had  brushed  liim,  kept  him  clean,  wrapped 
him  up,  and  used  him  carefullj'.  Finding  himself  thus 
looked  after  and  brushed  and  cared  for,  Monsieur  de 
Bargeton  had  acquired  an  almost  canine  affection  for 
his  wife  ;  it  is  so  eas}'  to  give  one's  self  a  happiness  that 
costs  nothing !  Madame  de  Bargeton,  knowing  that 
her  husband's  greatest  pleasure  was  good  living,  pro- 
vided him  with  excellent  dinners.  She  pitied  him,  and 
never  did  she  complain  of  him ;  so  that  some  persons, 
misunderstanding  her  proud  silence,  supposed  Monsieur 
de  Bargeton  to  be  possessed  of  hidden  merits.  His 
wife  had  long  brought  him  under  militarj^  rule,  and  he 
obeyed  her  passivel}'.  She  would  sa}',  "  Pa}*  a  visit  to 
Monsieur  or  Madame  Such-a-one,"  and  he  went  like  a 
soldier  to  his  post.  In  her  presence  he  stood  as  it  were 
at  attention,  motionless.  At  this  particular  time  there 
was  some  question  of  nominating  this  mute  being  as 
deput}'.  Lucien  had  been  an  intimate  of  the  house  too 
short  a  time  to  have  lifted  the  veil  which  hid  this  un- 
imaginable character.  Monsieur  de  Bargeton,  buried 
in  his  armchair,  apparentl}'  seeing  all  and  understand- 
ing everything,  and  making  a  dignit}'  of  his  silence, 
seemed  to  Lucien  a  most  imposing  personage.  Instead 
of  taking  him  for  a  granite  post,  he  regarded  him  as  a 
formidable  sphinx,  after  the  manner  of  imaginative 
men  whose  tendenc}'  it  is  to  magnify  and  give  a  soul  to 
forms.     He  thought  it  neccssar}'  to  court  his  host. 

"I  am  the  first  to  arrive,"  he  said,  bowing  to  the 
master  of  the  liouse  with  more  deference  than  was 
usuall}'  accorded  to  him. 

*'  That  is  natural,"  replied  Monsieur  de  Bargeton. 


Lost  Illusions.  87 

Lucien  took  tlie  remark  as  the  sarcasm  of  a  jealous 
husband  ;  he  turned  red  and  looked  in  a  mirror,  trying 
to  recover  himself. 

"You  live  in  the  suburbs,"  said  Monsieur  de  Barge- 
ton  ;  "  people  who  live  far  off  always  come  earlier  than 
those  near  by."' 

*' Why  is  that?"  asked  Lucien,  with  an  ingratiating 
air. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Monsieur  de  Bargeton,  re- 
lapsing into  his  usual  immobility. 

''  You  don't  seek  to  know,"  said  Lucien.  "A  man 
who  could  make  that  observation  can  certainly  find  the 
cause  of  it." 

*'  Yes,"  said  Monsieur  de  Bargeton,  "  the  final  cause, 
bey,  hey !  " 

Lucien  cracked  his  brains  to  continue  the  conversa- 
tion, which  had  now  dropped. 

"Madame  de  Bargeton  is  dressing,  I  suppose?"  he 
said,  shuddering  at  the  silliness  of  his  question. 

"Yes,  she  is  dressing,"  responded  the  husband, 
naturally. 

Lucien,  unable  to  invent  a  single  sentence,  raised 
his  e3-es  to  the  two  great  beams  of  the  ceiling,  painted 
gra}',  the  space  between  them  being  plastered,  and  he 
then  noticed  with  dismay  that  the  glass  chandelier  with 
its  numerous  pendants  was  freed  from  its  usual  gauze 
and  filled  with  wax  candles.  The  covers  of  the  furni- 
ture had  been  taken  off,  and  the  faded  patterns  of  the 
red  damask  exhibited.  These  preparations  announced 
an  unusual  festivity.  The  poet  doubted  the  propriety 
of  his  dress,  for  he  was  wearing  boots.  He  walked  to 
a  Japanese  vase  which  was  placed  on  a  console  of  the 


88  Lost  Illusions. 

Louis  XV.  period,  and  looked  at  it  in  a  stupor  of  fear ; 
then  he  was  alarmed  lest  he  should  displease  the  hus- 
band by  ceasing  to  court  him,  and  he  returned  to  the 
charge,  determined  to  discover  some  hobbj'  on  which 
he  could  flatter  him. 

*'  You  seldom  leave  town,  monsieur? "  he  began. 

"  Seldom." 

Silence  fell  again.  Monsieur  de  Bargeton  watched 
Lucien's  movements,  which  disturbed  him,  like  a  sus- 
picious cat.     Each  was  afraid  of  the  other. 

"  Can  he  suspect  m}'  attentions  to  his  wife?"  thought 
Lucien  ;  ''  he  is  certainl}'  hostile." 

Happil}'  for  Lucien,  who  was  much  embarrassed  by 
the  uneasy  glances  which  Monsieur  de  Bargeton  cast  at 
him  as  he  moved  about  the  room,  the  old  servant,  who 
had  donned  a  liver}',  announced  du  Chatelet.  The 
bnron  entered  with  much  ease  of  manner,  greeted  his 
friend  Bargeton,  and  gave  Lucien  the  little  nod  which 
was  then  the  fashion,  but  which  the  poet,  ignorant  of 
this  fact,  considered  financially  impertinent.  Sixte  du 
Cliatelet  wore  trousers  of  dazzling  whiteness,  with 
straps  which  held  their  plaits  in  place,  thin  shoes,  and 
stockings  of  Scotch  tiiread.  Over  his  white  waistcoat 
floated  the  black  ribbon  of  an  eyeglass.  The  cut  of  his 
coat  was  Parisian.  He  was  quite  the  buck  which  his 
antecedents  proclaimed  him,  but  ^ears  had  suppHcd 
him  with  a  little  round  stomach  wliich  he  found  some- 
what diflicult  to  restrain  within  the  lines  of  elegance. 
He  d^ed  his  hair  and  his  wliiskers,  whitened  by  the 
sufferings  of  his  exile,  and  it  gave  him  a  liard  look. 
His  complexion,  whicli  had  once  been  delicate,  now 
showed  the  copper  tinge  of  those  who  return  from  east- 


Lost  Illusions.  89 

ern  climes ;  nevertheless,  his  whole  bearing,  though 
rather  ridiculous  on  account  of  its  pretensions,  did  un- 
doubtedlj'  recall  the  fascinating  secretary  of  her  Imperial 
Highness. 

The  baron  took  up  his  eyeglass  and  surveyed  Lucien's 
nankeen  trousers,  waistcoat,  boots,  and  blue  coat,  made 
in  Angoulerae,  —  in  short,  the  whole  of  his  rival  from 
top  to  toe.  Then  he  returned  the  eyeglass  to  his  waist- 
coat pocket,  as  if  he  would  say,  "I  am  satisfied." 
Cruslied  at  first  by  the  baron's  elegance,  Lucien  soon 
reflected  that  his  turn  would  come  when  he  showed 
his  face,  instinct  with  poetry,  to  the  compan}' ;  but 
none  the  less  he  felt  a  keen  annoyance,  added  to  the 
inward  discomfort  which  Monsieur  de  Bargeton's  imagi- 
nary hostility  had  caused  him.  The  baron  seemed  to 
Lucien  to  bear  with  all  the  weight  of  his  prosperity  upon 
him  to  humiliate  his  poverty.  Monsieur  de  Bargeton, 
having  nothing  to  sa}',  was  in  consternation  at  the  si- 
lence maintained  b}'  the  rivals,  who  were  e3'eing  each 
other ;  but  when  he  found  himself  in  a  crisis  of  this 
kind,  he  had  one  question  which  he  reserved,  like  a 
pear  for  a  thirsty  moment,  and  he  now  thought  the  time 
had  come  to  launch  it  with  a  businesslike  air. 

"  Well,  monsieur,"  he  said  to  du  Chatelet,  "  what 
is  the  news?  what  do  people  say?  " 

'•The  news?"  replied  the  baron,  mischievously, 
"Why  the  news  is,  Monsieur  Chardon.  Ask  him. 
Have  3'ou  brought  us  a  charming  poem?"'  added  the 
sparkling  baron,  correcting  a  curl  which  was  a  little 
out  of  place. 

"  I  ought  to  consult  you  as  to  that,''  replied  Lucien. 
"  You  practised  poetry  long  before  me." 


90  Lost  Illusions, 

''  Pooh  !  a  few  vaudevilles  ;  well  enough  for  an  occa- 
sion, ballads  to  which  the  music  gave  charm,  a  lyric  to 
a  sister  of  Bonaparte  (ungrateful  fellow!) — the}'  are 
no  claim  to  posterit}'." 

At  this  moment  Madame  de  Bargeton  entered  in  all 
the  brillianc}'  of  a  studied  toilet.  She  wore  a  turban 
fastened  with  an  oriental  buckle.  A  gauze  scarf,  be- 
neath which  could  be  seen  a  cameo  necklace,  was  grace- 
fully twined  about  her  throat.  The  short  sleeves  of 
her  painted  muslin  gown  enabled  her  to  wear  several 
tiers  of  bracelets  on  her  beautiful  white  arms.  This 
theatrical  attire  enchanted  Lucien.  Monsieur  du  Chate- 
let  gallantly  addressed  a  number  of  fulsome  compli- 
ments to  the  queen,  which  made  her  smile  with  pleasure, 
so  delighted  was  she  to  be  praised  before  Lucien.  She 
exchanged  but  one  look  with  her  dear  poet,  and  replied 
to  the  baron  with  a  politeness  which  mortified  him  by 
excluding  him  from  her  intimacy. 

The  invited  guests  began  to  arrive.  The  first  to 
enter  were  the  bishop  and  his  grand-vicar,  two  solemn 
and  dignified  figures,  forming,  however,  a  violent  con- 
trast to  each  other.  Monseigneur  was  tall  and  thin  ; 
his  acolyte  was  fat  and  short.  Both  had  brilliant  eyes, 
but  the  bishop  was  pale,  while  the  vicar  was  crimson 
with  abounding  health.  In  each  —  and  here  there  was 
no  difference  between  them  —  gesture  and  movement 
were  extremely  rare.  Both  seemed  prudence  itself; 
their  reserve  and  their  silence  intimidated  others,  and 
they  passed  for  being  very  intellectual. 

The  priests  were  followed  by  Madame  de  Chandour 
and  her  husband,  two  extraordinary  personages  whom 
those  who  are  ignorant  of  the  provinces  will  declare  to 


Lost  Illusions,  91 

be  iraaginaiy.  The  husband  of  Amelie  (the  woman  who 
was  posing  as  Madame  de  Bargeton's  antagonist),  Mon- 
sieiirde  Chandoiir,  called  Stanislas,  was  a  would-be  ^oung 
man,  still  slender  at  foi*t>'-five  years  of  age,  with  a  face 
like  a  sieve.  His  cravat  was  always  tied  in  a  way  that 
presented  two  threatening  points ;  one  at  the  level  of 
his  right  ear,  the  other  lower  down  towards  the  red  rib- 
bon of  his  cross.  The  sides  of  his  coat  were  flung  back  ; 
a  wide-open  waistcoat  disclosed  a  swelling  shirt,  fastened 
and  weighted  with  pins  of  elaborate  jewehy.  His  whole 
apparel  had  an  exaggerated  air,  which  gave  him  so 
great  a  likeness  to  caricatures  that  even  strangers 
laughed  when  the}'  saw  him.  Stanislas  viewed  himself 
with  continual  satisfaction ;  he  looked  himself  over 
from  head  to  foot  and  verified  the  buttons  on  his  waist- 
coat, smoothed  the  undulating  line  of  liis  tight  trousers, 
and  caressed  his  legs  with  a  loving  glance  which  ended 
at  the  toes  of  his  boots.  When  he  ceased  to  thus  gaze 
upon  himself  he  looked  for  a  mirror,  in  which  to  see  if 
his  hair  were  still  in  curl ;  he  challenged  the  notice  of 
women  with  a  contented  eye,  sticking  his  thumbs  into 
the  pockets  of  his  waistcoat,  and  leaning  backward  to 
throw  himself  into  a  three-quarter  position,  —  allure- 
ments of  a  cock,  which  had  brought  him  much  success 
in  the  aristocratic  circles  of  which  he  was  the  beau. 
His  talk  was  for  the  most  part  in  the  smutty  style  of 
the  eighteenth  centur}'.  This  odious  form  of  conversa- 
tion gave  him  some  success  with  women ;  he  made 
them  laugh.  He  was  beginning  to  get  uneas}"  about 
Monsieur  du  Chatelet.  In  fact,  the  women  in  society, 
puzzled  by  the  implied  contempt  of  that  dand}',  stimu- 
lated by  his  affectation,  and  piqued  by  his  tone  of  a 


92  Los^t  Illusions. 

satiated  sultan,  had  begun  to  pa}'  him  much  more  atten- 
tion since  Madame  de  Bargeton  had  taken  up  the  Byron 
of  Angouleme  than  they  did  on  his  first  arrival. 

Amelie  was  a  little  woman,  clumsil}'  comic,  fat,  white, 
with  black  hair  ;  overdoing  everything,  talking  loud  and 
twirling  her  head,  which  was  laden  with  feathers  in 
summer  and  flowers  in  winter,  —  a  lively  talker,  but 
quite  unable  to  finish  a  sentence  w^ithout  the  accom- 
paniment of  an  asthmatic  whistle. 

Monsieur  de  Saintot,  called  Astolphe,  president  of  the 
Agricultural  Society,  was  a  tall,  stout  man  with  a  high 
color,  w^ho  seemed  to  be  led  b}'  his  wife,  called  Lilt 
(an  abbreviation  of  Eliza),  a  sort  of  figure  not  unlilve 
a  withered  fern.  Her  name,  which  implies  something 
childlike  in  its  owner,  contrasted  absurdly'  with  the 
character  and  manners  of  Madame  de  Saintot,  a  solemn 
woman,  extremely  pious,  very  quarrelsome  and  exact- 
ing at  cards.  Astolphe  was  held  to  be  a  scholar  of  the 
first  water.  Ignorant  as  a  carp,  he  had  nevertheless 
written  the  articles  on  sugar  and  brandy  in  the  "  Agri- 
cultural Dictionar}' ;  "  two  works  for  which  he  had  pil- 
fered his  facts  here  and  there  from  newspapers  and  old 
manuals  relating  to  those  productions.  The  depart- 
ment believed  he  was  now  occupied  in  writing  a  trea- 
tise on  modern  culture.  Though  he  shut  himself  up  in 
his  study  all  the  morning  he  had  not  written  a  page  for 
the  last  twelve  3'ears.  If  any  one  called  to  see  him  the}' 
found  him  sorting  papers,  searching  for  a  missing  note, 
or  mending  a  pen  ;  his  whole  time  when  alone  in  his 
study  was  spent  in  idling.  He  read  the  {)ai)ers  slowly, 
carved  corks  with  his  i)cnknife,  drew^  fantastic  figures 
in  his  blotting-book,  turned  over  Cicero  in  search  of  a 


Lost  Illusions.  93 

sentence  or  passage  applicable  to  some  event  of  the 
day,  so  that  he  might  lead  the  conversation  in  the  even- 
ing to  a  topic  which  enabled  him  to  sa}' :  "There  is  a 
passage  in  Cicero  which  seems  actually  to  have  been 
written  for  these  days."  Then  he  would  recite  it  to  the 
great  edification  of  his  hearers,  who  remarked  to  each 
other  :  "  Astolphe  is  really  a  wellspring  of  knowledge." 
This  interesting  fact  would  then  be  told  all  over  town, 
and  it  maintained  the  faith  which  society  bestowed  on 
Monsieur  de  Saintot's  acquirements. 

After  this  couple,  came  Monsieur  de  Bartas,  called 
Adrien,  a  man  who  sang  bass  and  had  immense  pre- 
tensions to  be  musical.  Self-conceit  had  set  him  astride 
of  the  solfeggio.  He  began  by  admiring  himself  as  he 
sang ;  then  he  talked  music,  till  at  last  he  ended  in 
being  musical  exclusiveh'.  The  art  of  music  became  to 
him  a  monomania ;  he  never  brightened  unless  the  sub- 
ject were  talked  of ;  he  was  miserable  the  whole  even- 
ing until  asked  to  sing.  But  as  soon  as  he  had  bellowed 
a  tune,  life  began  for  him ;  his  chest  swelled,  he  rose 
from  his  heels  to  receive  compliments ;  he  pretended 
modesty  though  he  went  from  group  to  group  to  gather 
flattery;  then,  when  there  was  no  more  to  be  had,  he 
would  open  a  discussion  on  the  piece  he  had  just  sung 
and  praise  the  composer. 

Monsieur  Alexandre  de  Brebian,  a  sepia  hero,  a 
sketcher  who  infested  the  houses  of  his  friends  with  ri- 
diculous drawings  and  spoiled  all  the  albums  of  the 
department,  came  with  Monsieur  de  Bartas.  Each 
gave  his  arm  to  the  wife  of  the  other.  Gossip  said  that 
the  exchange  was  permanent.  These  women,  Lolotte 
(Madame   Charlotte  de  Brebian)  and  Fifine  (Madame 


94  Lost  Illusions. 

Josephine  de  Bartas),  both  equally  interested  in  chiffons, 
trimmings,  and  the  matching  of  heterogeneous  colors, 
were  eaten  up  with  a  desire  to  appear  Parisian.  They 
neglected  their  houseliolds,  where  mattei's  went  ill.  But 
if  the  two  women  were  squeezed  like  dolls  into  gowns 
that  were  scantily  constructed  and  presented  on  their 
own  persons  an  assortment  of  excruciating  colors,  the 
husbands,  in  their  capacit}'  as  artists,  allowed  them- 
selves a  provincial  freedom  of  apparel  which  made  them 
wonderful  to  behold.  Tlieir  creased  coats  gave  them 
the  look  of  supernumeraries  who  figure  as  guests  at  a 
wedding  on  the  boards  of  a  pett^'  theatre. 

Among  the  personages  whom  fate  landed  in  the 
salon  the  most  original  was  undoubtedly  Monsieur  le 
Comte  de  Senonches,  aristocratically  called  Jacques,  —  a 
great  huntsman,  haughty,  lean,  sunburnt,  amiable  as 
a  wild  boar,  distrustful  as  a  Venetian,  jealous  as  a 
Moor,  and  living  on  ver}'  good  terms  with  Monsieur  du 
Hautoy,  otherwise  called  Francis,  the  friend  of  the 
household. 

Madame  de  Senonches  (Zephirine)  was  tall  and  hand- 
some, but  unfortunatel}'  blotched  in  complexion  owing 
to  an  affection  of  the  liver  which  made  people  take  her 
for  a  fretful  woman.  Her  slender  waist  and  delicate 
proportions  allowed  her  to  assume  a  languor  of  manner 
which  seemed  affectation,  but  was  really  expressive  of 
the  emotions  and  constantly  gratified  caprices  of  a 
woman  beloved. 

Francis  was  a  man  of  some  distinction,  who  had 
abandoned  a  consulate  at  Valence  and  all  his  hopes  in 
diplomacy  to  come  to  Angouleme  and  live  near  Zephi- 
rine, —  called   also   Zizine.      The   former   consul   took 


Lost  Illnsions.  95 

charge  of  the  honsehokl  and  the  education  of  the  chil- 
dren, taught  the  hitter  foreign  languages,  and  managed 
the  property  of  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Senonches 
with  absohite  devotion.  AngoultMne,  noble,  adminis- 
trative, and  bourgeois,  had  long  gossiped  over  the 
perfect  unity  of  this  household  of  three  persons  ;  but  in 
the  long  run,  this  mystery  of  conjugal  trinity  had  seemed 
so  rare  and  so  charming  that  Monsieur  du  Hautoy 
would  have  been  regarded  as  outrageously  immoral  had 
he  thought  of  marrying.  Besides,  the  communit}'  was 
beginning  to  suspect  in  the  attachment  of  Madame  de 
Senonches  to  a  goddaughter  named  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Haye,  who  lived  with  her  as  companion,  another  and 
more  disquieting  mystery ;  and  in  spite  of  certain 
absolute  impossibilities  of  date  a  strong  likeness  was 
said  to  exist  between  Francoise  de  la  Haye  and  Francis 
du  Hautoy.  When  Jacques  hunted  the  countr}',  per- 
sons would  ask  him  news  of  Francis,  to  which  he  would 
reply  with  information  about  the  latter's  health,  appar- 
ently considering  his  welfare  before  that  of  his  wife. 
This  blindness  seemed  so  remarkable  in  a  jealous  man 
that  his  best  friends  would  sometimes  pla}^  upon  it. 
Monsieur  du  Hautoy  was  a  scrupulous  dand}',  whose 
personal  solicitudes  had  turned  to  the  finical  and  fuss}'. 
He  was  always  thinking  of  his  cough,  or  his  want  of 
sleep,  of  his  digestion,  and  of  what  he  ate.  Zephirine 
had  coddled  her  factotum  into  thinking  himself  a  man 
in  poor  health  ;  she  wadded  and  muffled  and  physicked 
him  ;  she  stuffed  him  with  tidbits  like  the  pug  of  a 
countess  ;  she  ordered  or  forbade  him  to  take  such  and 
such  food  ;  she  embroidered  his  waistcoats,  the  ends  of 
his  cravats,  and  his  handkerchiefs,  and  ended  b}'  making 


96  Lost  Illusions. 

liim  wear  so  man}-  of  her  prett}^  constructions  that  he 
looked  like  a  Japanese  idol.  Their  understanding  of 
each  other  was  flawless.  Zizine  looked  to  Francis  for 
everything  and  Francis  seemed  to  take  his  ideas  from 
Zizine's  ej'es.  They  smiled  and  thought  and  blamed 
as  one  being ;  they  even  seemed  to  consult  each  other 
as  to  saying  the  simplest  good-day. 

The  richest  landowner  of  the  neighborhood,  a  man 
envied  hy  all,  the  Marquis  de  Pimentel  and  his  wife, 
who  together  possessed  forty  thousand  francs  a  year, 
and  passed  the  winters  in  Paris,  came  in  from  the 
country  in  their  caleche,  bringing  with  them  their 
neighbors,  the  Baron  and  Baroness  de  Rastignac  and 
their  daughters,  two  charming  young  women,  well 
brought  up,  poor,  but  dressed  with  the  simplicit3'' 
which  enhances  natural  beaut}'.  These  persons,  who 
were  certainly  the  elite  of  the  company-,  were  received 
in  cold  silence,  with  a  respect  full  of  jealous}',  especially 
when  those  present  saw  the  distinguished  greeting 
which  Madame  de  Bargeton  gave  to  them.  The  two 
families  belonged  to  the  small  number  of  those  who,  in 
the  provinces,  hold  themselves  above  local  gossip  and 
mix  in  no  general  society  ;  they  lived  quietly  in  retreat 
and  maintained  an  imposing  dignitj;.  Monsieur  de 
Pimentel  and  Monsieur  de  Rastignac  were  called  bj^ 
their  titles ;  no  familiarities  connected  their  wives  and 
daughters  with  the  upper  clique  of  Angouleme  ;  they 
were  too  nearl}'  allied  to  the  court  nobilit}'  to  share  the 
pettiness  of  provincial  high-life. 

The  prefect  and  the  general  were  the  last  to  arrive, 
accompanied  by  the  country  gentleman  who  had  carried 
his  treatise  on  silk-worms  to  David's  printing-oflice  in 


Lost  Illusions.  97 

the  morning.  He  was  no  doubt  the  maj'or  of  some  dis- 
trict, chosen  for  his  landed  property ;  but  his  behavior 
and  clothes  betrayed  rustiness  in  society ;  he  never 
knew  where  to  put  his  hands,  turned  around  the  per- 
son who  spoke  to  him,  rose  or  sat  down  to  reply  xo 
whoever  addressed  him,  was  obsequious,  uneasy,  and 
solemn  b\'  turns,  hastened  to  laugh  at  a  joke,  listened 
with  servile  attention,  and  wore  at  times  a  surly  look 
when  he  thought  others  were  laughing  at  him.  Several 
times  during  the  evening,  feeling  oppressed  b\'  his  trea- 
tise, he  tried  to  talk  silk-worms,  but  the  unfortunate 
man  (his  name  was  de  Severac)  fell  into  the  hands  of 
Monsieur  de  Bartas,  who  answered  music,  and  Mon- 
sieur de  Saintot,  who  quoted  Cicero.  Towards  the  mid- 
dle of  the  evening  the  luckless  mayor  managed  to  find 
auditors  in  a  widow  and  her  daughter,  Madame  and 
Mademoiselle  de  Brossard,  who  were  not  the  least  in- 
teresting of  the  personages  of  this  societ}'.  One  word 
will  tell  all :  they  were  as  poor  as  they  were  noble. 
Their  dress  showed  the  effort  at  adornment  which  be- 
tra\'s  secret  penur}'.  Madame  de  Brossard  was  con- 
tinually praising,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  her  tall, 
stout  daughter,  twentN'-seven  years  of  age,  ^\ho  was 
supposed  to  be  proficient  on  the  piano.  In  her  desire 
to  marry  her  dear  Camille  she  proclaimed  her  as  shar- 
ing the  tastes  of  all  marriageable  men,  and  had  been 
known  to  declare  in  the  coarse  of  a  single  evening  that 
Camille  loved  the  wandering  life  of  garrisons,  and  the 
tranquil  life  of  country  gentlemen  cultivating  their 
own  lands.  Both  women  had  the  pinched,  sour  dignity 
of  persons  whom  others  are  delighted  to  pity  and  in 
whom   they  take   an   interest    through  egotism ;    the}' 

7 


98  Lost  Illusions, 

had  sounded  the  liollowness  of  the  consolatory  words 
which  societ}'  finds  pleasure  in  bestowing  on  the  unfor- 
tunate. Monsieur  de  Severac  was  fift3'-nine  years  of 
age,  a  widower  without  children  ;  mother  and  daughter 
listened  with  admiring  devotion  to  the  details  which  he 
gave  them  about  his  mulberries. 

"  My  daughter  has  always  been  fond  of  animals," 
said  the  mother,  "  and  as  the  silk  these  little  creatures 
make  is  particularh'  interesting  to  women,  I  shall  ask 
permission  to  go  to  Severac  and  show  Camille  how  you 
manage  them.  Camille  has  so  much  intelligence  that 
she  will  seize  your  ideas  in  a  moment.  On  one  occa- 
sion she  learned  the  inverse  ratio  of  the  square  of 
distances." 

This  phrase  was  the  glorious  termination  of  a  long 
conversation  between  Monsieur  de  Severac  and  Ma- 
dame de  Brossard  after  Lucien  had  finished  his  reading. 

A  few  habitues  slipped  familiarly-  into  the  salon  ;  also 
two  or  three  young  men,  scions  of  nobility,  shy,  silent, 
faultlessl}-  dressed,  pleased  at  being  invited  to  this  lit- 
erar}'  solemnity,  though  only  one  was  daring  enough  to 
emancipate  himself  to  the  extent  of  speaking  to  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Ilaye.  All  the  women  ranged  themselves 
solemnly  in  a  circle,  behind  which  stood  the  men.  This 
assemblage  of  queer  personages,  anomalous  garments, 
and  wrinkled  faces,  was  extremel}'  imposing  to  Lucien, 
whose  heart  began  to  palpitate  as  he  felt  himself  the 
object  of  all  those  eyes.  Bold  as  he  tried  to  be,  he 
could  not  endnre  this  first  social  trial,  thongh  encour- 
aged by  his  mistress,  who  made  a  great  display  of 
curtseys  and  all  her  most  finished  graces  in  receiving 
the  illustrious  personages  of  Angouleme  society.     The 


Lost  Illusions.  99 

discomfort  to  which  Lucien  now  fell  a  prey  was  in- 
creased b}'  a  circumstance  eas}^  to  have  foreseen,  but 
which  frightened  a  youth  who  was  still  unused  to  the 
tactics  of  the  world.  Being  all  eyes  and  ears,  he  heard 
himself  called  Monsieur  de  Rubempr6  hy  Louise,  b}^ 
Monsieur  de  Bargeton,  by  the  bishop,  and  b}'  several 
flatterers  of  the  mistress  of  the  house,  and  Monsieur 
Chardon  by  the  majority  of  the  formidable  compan}-. 
Intimidated  by  the  inquisitive  glances  of  those  about 
him,  he  knew  the}-  were  saying  his  bourgeois  name  by 
the  mere  motion  of  their  lips  ;  he  anticipated  the  judg- 
ments they  would  form  about  him,  with  the  provincial 
frankness  that  is  often  akin  to  brutality.  These  con- 
tinual pin-pricks  put  him  out  of  sorts  with  himself.  He 
waited  impatiently  for  the  moment  when  he  should 
be  asked  to  read,  and  could  take  an  attitude  which 
would  put  an  end  to  his  inward  torture.  But  Jacques 
was  relating  his  last  hunting  feat  to  Madame  de 
Pimentel ;  Adrien  was  talking  of  the  new  musical  -star, 
Rossini,  to  Laure  de  Rastignac ;  Astolphe,  who  had 
committed  to  memory  the  description  given  in  a  news- 
paper of  a  novel  kind  of  plough,  was  describing  it  to  the 
baron.  Lucien,  poor  poet,  was  not  aware  that  none  of 
these  minds,  except  that  of  Madame  de  Bargeton,  could 
understand  poetry.  All  these  persons,  hungering  for 
emotions,  had  eagerly  accepted  the  invitation,  deceiv- 
ing themselves  completely  as  to  the  nature  of  the  show 
that  awaited  them.  There  are  words  which  always 
attract  the  public  as  trumpets,  the  clash  of  C3'mbals,  or 
the  booth  of  acrobats  attract  them.  The  words  "  beauty," 
"  glory,"  "  poesy,"  have  a  witchcraft  about  them  which 
fascinates  the  commonest  mind. 


100  Lost  Illusions. 

When  the  compan}'  had  all  assembled,  and  conversa- 
tion was  hushed,  —  not  without  man}'  hints  given  to 
the  interrupters  b}-  Monsieur  de  Bargeton,  who  was 
sent  about  by  his  wife  like  a  beadle  in  a  church  who 
taps  his  staff  on  the  pavement,  —  Lucien  placed  himself 
at  a  round  table  beside  Madame  de  Bargeton,  violently 
shaken  up  in  soul.  He  announced,  in  an  agitated  voice, 
that,  in  order  not  to  disappoint  the  expectations  of  his 
audience,  he  was  about  to  read  to  them  the  master- 
pieces, latel}^  rediscovered,  of  a  great  but  unknown 
poet,  Andre  Chenier.  Though  Chenier's  poems  were 
first  published  in  1819  no  one  in  Angouleme  had  ever 
heard  of  him.  The  audience,  therefore,  imagined  that 
Lucien's  announcement  was  an  evasion  suggested  by 
Madame  de  Bargeton  to  save  the  modesty  of  her  poet 
and  put  his  hearers  at  their  ease. 

Lucien  then  read  "  Le  Jeune  Malade,"  which  was 
received  with  flattering  murmurs;  then  "  L'Aveugle," 
a  poem  which  these  empt}-  minds  thought  long.  While 
he  read,  Lucien  was  a  victim  to  those  infernal  suffer- 
ings which  cannot  be  understood  by  anj'  but  great 
artists,  or  those  whose  enthusiasm  and  lofty  intellect 
put  them  on  that  level.  To  render  poetrj'  by  the  voice 
and  seize  it  by  the  ear,  exacts  an  almost  sacred  at- 
tention. There  must  exist  between  the  reader  and 
his  hearers  the  closest  bond,  without  which  the  electric 
communication  of  feelings  cannot  take  place.  If  this 
cohesion  of  souls  is  lacking,  the  poet  is  like  an  angel 
trying  to  sing  the  hymns  of  heaven  amid  the  sneers  of 
hell.  Now,  in  circumstances  which  develop  their  facul- 
ties, persons  of  intellect  have  the  circumferential  sight 
of  snails,  the  nose  of  dogs,  the  ear  of  moles ;  they  see 


Lost  llhsims.  101 

scent,  and  bear  everything- fvbcut  thcra.  .  Tlie  mr.-slcij.n 
and  the  poet  know  as  quickly  whether  tber  art  ad-mired 
or  misunderstood  as  a  pL^nt  wilts  or  freshens  in  a  suit- 
able 01'  unsuitable  atmosphere.  The  muttering  of  the 
men  who  had  only  come  there  to  bring  their  wives  and 
were  whispering  among  themselves  echoed  in  Lucien's 
ear  by  tie  laws  of  these  special  acoustics;  his  q\q 
caught  the  sympathetic  hiatus  of  jaws  parted  b}'  a 
yawn,  and  the  teeth  thus  exposed  seemed  to  mock  him. 
When,  like  Noalrs  dove,  he  looked  for  a  spot  on  which 
to  rest,  he  encountered  the  impatient  eyes  of  those  who 
were  waiting  ai  opportunity  to  recommence  their  talk. 
With  the  exception  of  Laure  de  Rastignac  and  two  or 
three  young  mei^,  and  the  bishop,  all  present  were 
bored.  Those  who  understand  poetry  tr}^  to  develop 
in  their  own  souls  'hat  which  the  poet  has  put  in  its 
germ  into  his  verse.  But  these  icy  hearers,  far  from 
aspiring  to  share  the  poet's  soul,  could  not  even  listen 
to  his  accents.  Lucien  was  so  deeph'  discouraged  that 
a  cold  sweat  moistened  h;s  shirt ;  but  a  burning  glance 
from  Louise,  to  whom  he  turned,  gave  him  courage  to 
read  on,  though  his  poet's  heart  was  bleeding  at  every 
pore. 

"  Do  you  call  that  amusing,  Fifine?"  said  the  gaunt 
Lili  to  her  neighbor. 

"Don't  ask  me,  my  dear;  I  go  to  sleep  as  soon  as 
any  one  reads  aloud." 

"  I  hope  Nais  won't  give  us  verses  every  night,"  said 
Francis.  "  If  I  listen  to  anything  after  dinner,  the 
attention  I  am  forced  to   pay  hinders  ni}'  digestion." 

"  Poor  dear  !  "  said  Zephirine,  in  a  low  voice,  "  take 
some  eau  sucree." 


102  LoH  Illusions. 

"It' v-as  very  ;vell  declaimed,"  said  Alexandre; 
"but  I'prefei'  whist." 

Hearing  this  remark,  which  passed  for  witt\'  because 
an  English  word  was  used,  a  few  devoted  card-players 
suggested  that  the  reader  ought  to  rest.  Und.er  this 
pretext  a  few  couples  escaped  into  the  boudoir.  Lu- 
cien,  entreated  by  Louise,  b}'  the  charming  Laure  de 
Rastignac,  and  by  the  bishop,  roused  fresh  attention  by 
rendering  the  anti-revolutionary  fire  of  the  ''  lambes," 
which  several  persons,  carried  away  by  the  roll  of 
the  language,  applauded  without  comprehending.  Such 
persons  are  excited  b}^  vociferation,  as  v'ulgar  palates 
are  by  strong  drink.  During  an  interval,  when  ices 
were  served,  Zephirine  sent  Francis, to  examine  the 
volume,  and  reported  to  her  neigiibor  Amelie  that 
Lucien   was   really   reading   printed   poems. 

"  Well,"  said  Amelie,  contentcdl}',  "that's  natural 
enough ;  Monsieur  de  Kubempr^  works  for  a  printer. 
It  is  just  as  if  a  prett}'  won  an,"  with  a  malicious 
glance  at  Lolotte,  "should  n:ake  her  own  clothes." 

"  He  has  printed  his  poeu's  himself,"  said  all  the 
women. 

"Then  why  does  he  call  himself  de  Rubempre?" 
asked  Jacques.  "  When  a  noble  works  with  his  hands, 
he  ought  to  relinquish  his  name." 

"  He  has  done  so,"  said  Zizine ;  "his  real  name  is 
bourgeois,  and  he  has  taken  that  of  his  mother,  which 
is  noble." 

"  If  liis  verses  are  printed,  we  can  read  them  for 
ourselves,"  said  Astolphe. 

Tiiis  stupid  mistake  complicated  matters  until  Sixtc 
du  Chatclet  deigned  to  inform  the  ignorant  company- 


Lost  Illusions.  103 

that  the  announcement  was  not  an  oratorical  precau- 
tion, but  that  these  beautiful  poems  were  actually  written 
b}'  a  royalist  brother  of  the  revolutioniso  Marie-Joseph 
Chenier.  The  audience,  with  the  exception  of  the 
bishop  and  Madame  de  Rastignac  and  her  daughters, 
chose  to  be  affronted  at  this  announcement,  and  to 
consider  they  had  been  cheated  through  their  own 
mistake.  A  low  murmur  of  opposition  arose  ;  but  Lu- 
cien  did  not  hear  it.  Isolated  for  the  moment  from 
this  odious  company  by  the  intoxication  of  inward 
melody,  he  continued  his  reading,  and  saw  his  audience, 
as  it  were,  through  a  mist.  He  read  the  solemn  elegy 
on  Suicide,  written  in  the  antique  vein,  and  full  of  a 
sublime  melancholy* ;  and  next  the  poem  in  which 
occurs  the  line,  — 

"  Thy  poems  are  sweet ;  I  love  to  repeat  them." 

Then  he  ended  his  recitation  with  that  beautiful  idyl 
entitled  "  Xe'ere." 

Plunged  in  a  delightful  revery,  one  hand  in  her  curls 
which  had  broken  loose,  the  other  hanging  down,  her 
eyes  wandering,  her  mind  solitar}'  in  the  midst  of  her 
salon,  Madame  de  Bargeton  felt,  for  the  first  time,  that 
her  life  had  entered  its  proper  sphere.  She  was  un- 
pleasantly aroused  by  Amelie,  who  had  taken  upon  her- 
self to  inform  the  mistress  of  the  house  of  the  general 
opinion. 

"  Nals,  we  came  here  to  listen  to  Monsieur  Chardon's 
poems,  and  you  have  given  us  printed  verses.  They 
may  be  very  pretty,  but  these  ladies  would  prefer, 
lor  the  credit  of  Angouleme,  the  poetry  of  our  own 
vintao:e." 


104  Lost  Illusions, 

"  Don't  you  think  that  the  French  language  is  very 
unsuitable  for  poetry?"  said  Astolphe  to  Sixte  du 
Chatelet.  "For  my  part,  I  think  Cicero's  prose  far 
more  poetic." 

"The  true  French  poetry  is  lyric,"  replied  du  Cha- 
telet,  "  songs  — " 

"Ah,  3'es,  songs  prove  how  musical  our  language 
is,"  said  Adrien. 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  some  of  the  verses  which  made 
a  conquest  of  Nais,'"  said  Zephirine ;  "but  I  judge 
from  the  way  she  received  Amelie's  remark  that  she 
won't  give  us  a  specimen  of  them." 

"  She  owes  it  to  herself  to  let  us  hear  them,"  re- 
marked Francis  ;  "for  the  genius  of  her  little  poet  was 
the  reason  of  her  inviting  us  here  to-night." 

"  You  have  been  a  diplomat,"  said  Amelie,  address- 
ing du  Chatelet.     "  Can't  you  manage  it  for  us?" 

"  Nothing  easier,"  said  the  baron. 

The  former  secretar}'  of  her  Imperial  Highness  be- 
ing used  to  such  little  manoeuvres,  went  to  find  the 
bishop,  and  persuaded  him  to  come  forward.  Ee- 
quested  by  Monseigneur  himself,  Nais  was  forced  to 
ask  Lucien  to  repeat  something  of  his  own  which  he 
knew  by  heart.  Du  Chatelet's  prompt  success  in  the 
negotiation  won  him  a  smile  from  Amelie. 

"Tlie  baron  is  certainly  ver}'  clev^er,"  she  whispered 
to  Lolotte. 

Lolotte,  bearing  in  mind  Amdlie's  slur  on  women 
who  made  their  own  gowns,  replied  with  a  smile  : 
"  Since  when  have  you  recognized  the  barons  of  the 
Empire?" 

Lucien  had  deilied  his  mistress  in  an  ode  to  which  he 


Lout  Illusions.  105 

had  given  a  title  invented  by  ever}'  young  man  on  leav- 
ing college.  This  ode,  complacently  cherished  and  beau- 
tified with  all  the  love  his  heart  contained,  seemed  to 
him  the  only  one  of  his  poems  that  was  fit  to  compete 
with  those  of  Chenier.  Giving  Madame  de  Bargeton  a 
look  that  was  not  a  little  conceited,  he  said  :  "To 
Her  ! "  Then  he  proudly  assumed  an  attitude  in 
which  to  deliver  his  masterpiece,  for  his  vanity  as  an 
author  felt  at  ease  behind  Madame  de  Bargeton's  petti- 
coat. This  was  the  moment  when  Nais  unguardedly 
let  all  the  women  present  into  her  secret.  Notwith- 
standing her  habit  of  ruling  the  social  world  around 
her  b}'  the  strength  of  her  intellect,  she  could  not  help 
trembling  for  Lucien.  Her  face  was  troubled,  her  eyes 
seemed  to  ask  some  forbearance ;  then  she  lowered 
them,  and  hid  her  feelings  as  best  she  could  while  the 
following  stanzas  were  recited  :  — 

TO   HER. 

Within  that  radiance  of  light  and  glory, 
"Where  listening  angels  tune  their  golden  lyres, 
Repeating  at  the  feet  of  great  Jehovah 
The  prayer  of  plaintive  stars, 

Behold,  a  cherubin  with  golden  hair, 
Veiling  her  brow  from  God's  effulgent  light. 
Leaves  in  the  courts  of  heaven  her  silvery  wings, 
And  comes  to  us  on  earth. 

With  her  she  brings  God's  merciful  compassion, 
Quiets  the  anguish  of  a  soul  at  bay, 
Wreathes  girlhood's  beauty,  cradles  wintry  age, 
With  flowers  of  purity. 


106  Lost  Illusions. 

Inspires  repentance  to  the  sinning  soul, 
Whispers  to  anxious  mothers,  "  Hope!  " 
Counts  with  glad  heart  the  sighs  of  those 
Wlio  pity  misery. 

One  of  these  messengers  is  here  among  us; 
A  loving  earth  arrests  her  course; 
And  yet  she  weeps  and  looks  up,  longing, 
Toward  the  Father's  bliss. 

'Tis  not  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  that  brow. 
Which  tells  the  secret  of  a  noble  birth, 
Nor  that  the  fruitful  ardor  of  that  soul 
Reveals  divinest  worth. 

It  is  that  when  my  awe-struck  love 
Strives  to  unite  with  that  pure  nature, 
It  finds  the  impenetrable  shield  opposed 
Of  God's  archangel. 

Ah !  keep  her,  keep  her,  let  her  not  revisit 
The  skies  to  which  she  longs  to  rise; 
Soon  she  may  learn  the  magic  language 
Of  human  love  and  sighs. 

Then  shall  we  see  two  souls  rending  the  veils 
Of  night,  rising  like  dawn,  attaining  heaven 

In  one  fraternal  flight. 
The  watching  mariner,  expecting  signs, 
Shall  see  the  track  of  their  illumined  feet, 

Eternal  beacon-light! 

*'  Can  you  make  anything  out  of  that?"  said  Auit'lie 
to  Monsieur  du  Chutelet,  with  a  coquettish  gianee. 

"  The}'  are  verses  such  as  we  all  make  when  we  leave 
college,"  replied  the  baron  with  a  bored  air,  carrying 


Lost  Illusions.  107 

put  his  role  of  critic  who  must  naught  admire.  "In 
ni}-  day  we  all  went  in  for  Ossianic  mists  —  Malvinas, 
Fingals,  cloudy  apparitions,  warriors  issuing  from  their 
tombs  with  stars  above  their  heads.  To  da}',  these 
poetic  fripperies  are  replaced  by  Jehovah,  lyres,  angels, 
wings  of  seraphim,  the  whole  wardrobe  of  Paradise 
made  over  new  with  the  words  '  immense,'  '  intellec- 
tual,' '  solitary,'  '  infinite  ; '  it  is  all  a  species  of  Chris- 
tianized pantheism,  enriched  with  a  few  chance  rhymes 
found  with  difficult}-  and  seldom  correct.  In  short,  poe- 
try has  changed  latitudes  ;  instead  of  being  in  the  North, 
as  it  once  was,  it  is  now  in  the  East ;  but  the  clouds 
and  darkness  are  as  thick  as  evei\" 

"  If  the  ode  is  obscure,"  said  Zephirine,  "  the  dec- 
laration seems  clear  enough." 

'•  The  shield  of  the  archangel  is  evidently  a  thin  mus- 
lin gown,"  remarked  Francis. 

Though  politeness  required  that  the  audience  should 
cstensibl}^  consider  an  ode  to  Madame  de  Bargeton 
admirable,  the  women,  furious  at  not  having  a  poet  of 
their  own  to  call  them  seraphs,  rose  as  if  bored  to 
death,  murmuring  in  icy  tones :  "  Verj' good  indeed," 
"  Very  pretty,"  "  Perfect." 

"  If  you  love  me,  you  will  not  compliment  either  the 
the  poet  or  his  angel,"  said  Lolotte  to  her  dear  Adrien, 
with  the  despotic  air  he  was  wont  to  obe\'. 

"After  all,  they  are  only  phrases,"  said  Zephirine  to 
Francis  ;  "  love  is  poetry  in  action." 

"  There,  Zizine,  you  have  said  a  thing  I  have  often 
thought,  but  I  could  never  have  expressed  it  so  deli- 
cately," remarked  Stanislas,  looking  himself  over  from 
head  to  foot  with  a  loving  air. 


108  Lost  Illusions. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  wouldn't  give,"  said  Amelie 
to  du  Chatelet,  "  if  I  could  see  Nais'  pride  brought  low  ; 
the  idea  of  allowing  herself  to  be  called  an  archangel,  as 
if  she  were  better  than  the  rest  of  us,  when  really  and 
truly  she  is  dragging  us  down  to  the  level  of  the  son 
of  an  apothecar}'  and  a  monthly  nurse,  with  a  grisette 
for  a  sister,  and  himself  a  journe3'man  printer." 

Everybod}^  seeemed  to  have  agreed  to  mortif}'  Lu- 
cien.  Lili,  the  pious,  said  it  would  be  charitable  to 
warn  Nais,  who  was  evidentl}'  very  near  committing  a 
false  step.  Francis,  the  di[)lomatist,  undertook  the 
management  of  this  foolish  conspirac}',  in  which  all 
these  pett}'  minds  became  eagerl}'  interested  as  if  it 
were  the  conclusion  of  a  drama,  and  in  which  the}'  fore- 
saw man}'  a  tale  to  be  gossiped  over  on  the  morrow. 
Francis,  not  at  all  desirous  of  fighting  the  young  poet, 
who,  under  the  eyes  of  his  mistress,  would  surelj'resent 
an  insulting  word,  saw  plainl}'  that  he  must  murder 
Lucien  with  some  weapon  against  which  vengeance  was 
impossible.  He  imitated  the  example  of  du  Chatelet 
when  it  was  a  question  of  making  Lucien  recite  his  own 
poetry ;  he  went  to  the  bishop,  pretending  to  share  his 
enthusiasm  for  the  ode  ;  then  he  told  him  that  Lucien's 
mother  was  a  most  superior  woman,  of  extreme  modest}', 
who  inspired  her  son  with  all  his  compositions.  Lu- 
cien's greatest  pleasure,  he  said,  was  to  see  justice  done 
to  his  mother  whom  he  adored.  This  idea  once  in- 
serted into  the  prelate's  mind,  Francis  left  the  rest  to 
accident  and  the  chances  of  conversation.  When  he 
returned,  followed  by  the  bishop,  to  the  circle  surround- 
ing Lucien,  tlioy  found  him  still  being  compelled  to 
drink  the  hemlock  in  little  sips.     The  poor  poet,  who 


Lost  Illusions.  109 

was  totally  ignorant  of  the  ways  of  societ}',  could  only 
look  at  Madame  de  Bargeton  and  answer  awkwardly 
the  stupid  questions  which  were  put  to  him.  lie  was 
ignorant  of  both  the  names  and  the  qualities  of  the 
persons  present ;  he  did  not  know  how  to  repl}'  to 
women  whose  sill}'  remarks  gave  him  a  sense  of  shame  ; 
he  could  onl}'  feel  himself  a  thousand  miles  away  from 
those  social  divinities,  who  addressed  him  sometimes  as 
Monsieur  Cliardon,  and  sometimes  as  Monsieur  de  Ru- 
bempre,  while  they  called  each  other  Lolotte,  Adrien, 
Astolphe,  Lili,  Fifine.  His  confusion  was  extreme 
when,  having  mistaken  Lili  for  a  man's  name,  he  called 
the  brutal  Monsieur  de  Senonches,  Monsieur  Lili. 

"  Nais  must  be  blinded  indeed  to  bring  that  little 
fellow  here  and  introduce  him  to  us,"  said  Fifine,  in 
a  whisper. 

*' Madame  la  marquise,"  said  Ze'phirine,  addressing 
Madame  de  Pimentel  in  a  low  voice,  but  contriving  that 
others  should  hear  her,  "  don't  you  see  a  strong  like- 
ness between  Monsieur  Chardon  and  Monsieur  de  Cante- 
Croix?" 

"The  resemblance  is  ideal,"  replied  Madame  de 
Pimentel,  smiling. 

"  Genius  has  seductions  whicH  we  can  openly  ac- 
knowledge," remarked  Madame  de  Bargeton  to  the  mar- 
quise. "  Some  women  fall  in  love  with  grandeur  of 
soul  as  others  do  with  pettiness,"  she  added,  letting  her 
eyes  rest  on  Francis. 

Zephirine  did  not  understand  the  malice  of  this 
speech,  for  she  thought  her  hero  a  great  man,  but  the 
marquise  ranged  herself  on  Nais*  side  by  laughing 
at  it. 


110  Lost  Illusio7is. 

"You  are  fortunate,  monsieur  —  "  said  the  Marquis 
de  Pimentel  to  Lucien,  catching  himself  up  after  saying 
Chardon,  and  substituting  de  Rubempre,  "  fortunate  in 
never  being  bored." 

"  Do  3-ou  work  quickl}-  ?  "  asked  Lolotte,  as  if  she  had 
asked  a  cabinet-maker,  "  Does  it  take  30U  long  to 
make  a  box?  " 

Lucien  was  completel}'  dumfounded  b}'  this  crushing 
question ;  but  he  raised  his  head  when  he  heard  Ma- 
dame de  Bargeton  answer,  with  a  laugh:  "My  dear, 
poetry  does  not  grow  in  Monsieur  de  Rubempre's  head 
like  the  grass  in  the  courtyard." 

"  Madame,"  said  the  bishop  to  Lolotte,  "  we  can 
hardly  feel  too  much  respect  for  the  noble  spirits  into 
which  God  casts  his  rays.  Yes,  poesy  is  a  hoh'  thing. 
To  speak  of  poes}'  is  to  speak  of  suffering.  How  many 
wakeful  nights  were  the  cost  of  those  stanzas  you  have 
just  admired !  Let  us  bow  in  love  before  a  poet  who 
leads,  I  ma}'  sa}^,  always,  a  troubled  life,  but  for  whom 
God  lias  reserved  a  place  in  heaven  among  his  prophets. 
This  3'oung  man  is  a  poet,"  he  added,  laying  his  hand 
on  Lucien's  head ;  "  can  you  not  see  his  fate  upon  that 
noble  brow  ?  " 

Happ3^  in  being  thus  gloriousl}'  upheld,  Lucien 
bowed  to  the  bishop  with  his  sweetest  smile,  little  think- 
ing that  the  worthy  prelate  was  about  to  strike  him  a 
fatal  blow.  Madame  de  Bargeton  glanced  round  the 
hostile  circle  with  triumphant  looks,  which  burned  them- 
selves like  arrows  into  the  hearts  of  her  rivals. 

"  Ah,  monseigneur,''  replied  the  poet,  hoping  to 
smite  those  imbecile  heads  with  his  golden  scei)tre, 
"the  vulgar  herd  has  not  your  mind  nor  3-et  your  charit}'. 


Lost  Illusions.  Ill 

Our  pains  are  ignored  ;  no  one  comprehends  our  labor. 
The  miner,  extracting  gold  from  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  does  not  toil  as  we  do,  to  tear  our  images  from 
the  most  refractor}'  of  languages.  If  the  end  of  poesy 
be  to  bring  ideas  to  the  precise  point  where  all  the  world 
can  see  them  and  can  feel  them,  the  poet  must  inces- 
santh*  run  the  gamut  of  all  human  intellects,  so  that  he 
ma}'  meet  and  satisfy  them  all ;  he  must  cover  with 
glowing  colors  both  sentiment  and  logic,  —  two  powers 
antagonistic  to  each  other ;  he  must  inclose  a  world  of 
thoughts  in  a  line,  sum  up  philosophies  in  a  picture  ; 
his  poems  are  seeds  which  must  fructify  in  hearts,  find- 
ing tlieir  soil  in  personal  experience.  Must  he  not 
have  felt  all,  to  give  all?  and  to  feel  all,  is  not  that  to 
suffer  everything?  Poems  are  born  after  painful  jour- 
neys through  vast  regions  of  thought  and  solitude. 
Surely  those  works  are  immortal  which  have  created 
beings  whose  life  is  more  living  than  that  of  other  be- 
ings who  have  lived  and  died,  — Richardson's  Clarissa, 
Chenier's  Camille,  the  Deha  of  Tibullus,  the  Angelica 
of  Ariosto,  the  Francesca  of  Dante,  Moliere's  Alceste, 
Beaumarchais's  Figaro,  the  Rebecca  of  Walter  Scott, 
the  Don  Quixote  of  Cervantes.'* 

"  And  what  will  you  create  for  us? "  asked  Monsieur 
du  Chatelet. 

"  Were  I  to  lay  claim  to  such  conceptions  I  should 
give  myself  a  brevet  rank  of  genius,"  replied  Lucien. 
"  Such  glorious  travail  needs  long  gestation,  much  expe- 
rience of  the  world,  the  study  of  passions  and  human 
interests  which  I  cannot  yet  have  made.  But  I  am 
beginning,"  he  added  bitterly,  with  a  revengeful  look 
around  the  circle.     <•  The  brain  gives  birth  —  " 


112  Lost  Illusions. 

"  I  fear  3'our  travail  will  be  laborious,"  said  Francis, 
interrupting  him. 

"  Your  excellent  mother  will  assist  3'ou,"  said  the 
bishop. 

This  unexpected  turn  of  vengeance  brought  flashes 
of  joy  into  the  e3'es  of  all  present.  Smiles  of  aristo- 
cratic satisfaction  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth,  increased 
b}'  the  imbecilit}' of  Monsieur  de  Bargeton,  who  laughed 
aloud. 

"  Monseigneur,  3'ou  are  too  wittj- ;  these  ladies  can- 
not understand  you,"  interposed  Madame  de  Bargeton, 
who  stopped  the  laughing  by  that  remark,  and  drew  all 
e3'es  upon  herself.  "  A  poet  who  finds  his  inspiration  in 
the  Bible  must  regard  the  Church  as  his  mother.  Mon- 
sieur de  Rubempre,  repeat  to  us  your  '  Saint  John  at 
Patmos/ or 'Belshazzar's  feast,' to  show  Monseigneur 
that  Rome  is,  as  ever,  the  Magna  parens  of  Virgil." 

The  women  exchanged  smiles  when  they  heard  Nais 
speaking  Latin. 

At  the  opening  of  life  the  bravest  hearts  are  not 
exempt  from  discouragement.  Tlie  blow  sent  Lucien 
to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  but  he  struck  on  his  feet  and 
returned  to  the  surface,  swearing  to  dominate  tliis 
clique.  Like  a  bull  pierced  with  darts,  he  sprang  up 
furious,  and  was  about  to  obe3'  Louise  b3'  declaiming 
his  "  Saint  John  at  Patmos,  "  when  he  saw  that  the 
card-tables  had  drawn  awa3^  his  audience,  who  fell  back 
into  tlieir  usual  ruts,  finding  a  pleasure  there  w'hich  poe- 
tr3^  could  not  give  them.  Tiic  vengeance  of  so  many 
mortified  self-loves  would  not  have  been  complete  with- 
out the  exhibition  of  negative  contempt  for  indigenous 
poetry  shown  in  this  desertion  of  Lucien  and  Madame 


Loi^t  lUusions.  113 

de  Bargeton.  They  all  put  on  a  preoccupied  air ;  one 
talked  to  the  prefect  of  a  new  district  road ;  another 
proposed  to  vary  the  amusement  of  the  evening  with 
music.  The  highest  society  iu  Angouleme,  feeling  it- 
self a  poor  judge  in  the  matter  of  poetry,  was  particu- 
larly anxious  to  obtain  the  opinions  of  the  Pimentels 
and  Rastignacs  on  Lucien's  merits,  and  several  put 
questions  to  them.  The  influence  which  the  two  fami- 
lies exercised  in  the  department  was  always  recognized 
on  great  occasions  ;  they  were  envied,  but  thev  were 
also  courted,  for  every  one  foresaw  the  possibility  of 
needing  their  protection. 

"  "What  do  you  think  of  our  poet  and  his  poetry?'^ 
said  Jacques  to  the  Marquise  de  Pimentel,  to  whom  he 
was  paying  attentions. 

*'  AYell,  for  provincial  verses  they  are  not  so  bad," 
she  replied,  smiling;  "'  besides,  such  a  handsome  poet 
can  do  nothing  ill.'' 

Every  one  thought  the  verdict  admirable,  and  went 
about  repeating  it  with  an  infusion  of  more  malice  than 
the  marquise  had  put  into  it.  Du  Chatelet  was  called 
upon  to  accompan}^  Monsieur  de  Bartas,  who  murdered 
Figaro's  grand  air.  The  wa}'  once  opened  for  music, 
the  company  was  obliged  to  listen  to  a  chivalric  song, 
written  under  the  Empire  by  Chateaubriand,  and  sung 
by  du  Chatelet.  Then  came  duets  on  the  piano,  played 
by  young  girls,  suggested  by  Madame  de  Brossard,  who 
wished  to  put  the  talent  of  her  dear  Camille  in  a 
shining  light  before  the  eyes  of  Monsieur  de  Severac. 

Madame  de  Bargeton,  wounded  by  the  indifference 
shown  to  her  poet,  returned  disdajn  for  disdain  by 
retu'ing  to  her  boudoir  while  the  music  went  on.     She 


114  Lost  Illusions, 

was  followed  b}'  the  bishop,  to  whom  the  grand  vicar 
had  explained  the  unintentional  sarcasm  of  his  speech, 
and  who  was  now  very  anxious  to  recall  it.  Made- 
moiselle de  Eastignac,  who  had  been  really  charmed 
with  the  poetrj',  slipped  in  after  them  without  her  moth- 
er's knowledge.  As  Louise  seated  herself  on  the  sofa, 
to  which  she  drew  Lucien,  she  was  able  to  whisper  in 
his  ear,  without  being  overheard  :  "  Dear  angel,  the}' 
have  not  understood  you,  but  ^Th\' verses  are  sweet; 
I  love  to  repeat  them.' " 

Lucien,  comforted  by  this  flatter^-,  forgot  his  troubles 
for  the  time  being. 

"There  is  no  glory  to  be  had  without  cost,"  said 
Madame  de  Bargeton,  taking  his  hand  and  pressing  it. 
"  Suffer,  yes,  3'ou  must  suffer,  m}'  friend,  to  be  great, 
and  sufferings  will  be  the  price  of  your  inimortalit}'. 
Would  that  I  too  had  a  struggle  to  endure  !  God  keep 
3'ou  from  an  enervated,  sterile  life  without  contests, 
where  the  wings  of  the  eagle  find  no  space  to  spread. 
I  envy  your  trials,  for  at  least  you  live !  you  exercise 
3'our  strength!  you  aspire  to  victory!  Your  struggle 
will  end  in  fame.  AVhen  you  reach  the  imperial  sphere 
where  great  minds  sit  enthroned,  remember  those  poor 
souls  whom  fate  has  disinherited,  whose  intellect  is 
annihilated,  suffocated,  b}'  moral  nitrogen;  who  have 
to  die  knowing  what  life  is,  but  never  having  lived  it ; 
whose  eyes  are  keen,  and  yet  see  nothing ;  whose  sense 
of  smell  is  delicate,  and  knows  no  fragrance  but  that  of 
poisoned  flowers.  When  you  are  famous,  my  friend, 
sing  of  the  plant  that  is  wilting  in  the  dei)ths  of  a 
foi-est,  chok(!d  by. lichen,  by  rank  vegetations,  never 
loved  l)y  the  sun,  dying  without  having  flowered  !    Ah  ! 


Lost  Illusions.  115 

it  will  be  a  poem  full  of  dreadful  melanchoh',  a  subject 
for  all  imaginations.  What  a  sublime  conception  would 
be  the  picture  of  a  girl  born  beneath  the  skies  of  Asia, 
or,  better  still,  a  girl  of  the  desert,  transferred  to  a  cold 
Western  land,  calling  to  her  beloved  sun,  dying  of  in- 
communicable anguish,  oppressed  alike  b}'  cold  and 
love!     That  would  be  the  type  of  many  an  existence." 

"It  is  the  type  of  a  soul  that  remembers  heaven," 
said  the  bishop  ;  •'  a  poem  that  exists  for  ages  ;  I  find 
a  fragment  of  it  in  the  Song  of  Songs." 

"Undertake  it,"  said  Laure  de  Rastignac,  with  art- 
less belief  in  Lucien's  genius. 

"  France  is  in  need  of  a  great  sacred  poem,"  said  the 
bishop.  "Believe  me,  fame  and  fortune  are  waiting 
for  the  man  of  talent  who  shall  give  his  labor  to 
religion." 

"He  will  undertake  it,  monseigneur,"  said  Madame 
de  Bargeton,  emphatically.  "  Do  you  not  see  the  idea 
of  that  poem  already  dawning  with  auroral  flashes  in 
his  eye  ?  " 

"  Nais  is  ver}-  rude  to  us,"  Fifine  remarked;  ^'what 
is  she  doing  in  there  ?  " 

"Can't  you  hear  her?"  replied  Stanislas;  "she  is 
astride  of  her  big  words  which  have  neither  head  nor 
tail  to  them." 

Amelie,  Fifine,  Adrien,  and  Francis  appeared  at  the 
door  of  the  boudoir  accompanied  by  Madame  de  Ras- 
tignac, who  was  searching  for  her  daughter  to  take 
leave. 

"  Nais,"  said  the  two  women,  delighted  to  break  up 
the  little  conclave,  "do  please  be  so  kind  as  to  come 
and  play  us  something." 


116  Lost  Illusions. 

*'  M3'  clear  child,"  replied  Madame  de  Bargeton, 
''  Monsieur  de  Rubeinpre  is  going  to  read  us  his  '  Saint 
John  at  Patmos/  a  magnificent  Biblical  poem.'' 

*'  Biblical !  "  repeated  Fifine,  amazed. 

Amelie  and  Fifine  returned  to  the  salon  bearing  the 
word  as  food  for  sarcasm.  Lucien,  however,  excused 
himself  from  repeating  the  poem  on  the  ground  of  want 
of  memorj'.  When  he  re-entered  the  salon  no  one 
showed  the  slightest  interest  in  him.  The  compan}' 
were  talking  or  playing  cards.  Tlie  poet  was  shorn  of 
all  his  rays ;  the  landowners  saw  nothing  to  be  made 
of  him  ;  the  men  of  pretensions  feared  him  as  a  power 
hostile  to  their  ignorance ;  the  women,  jealous  of  Ma- 
dame de  Bargeton,  the  Beatrice  of  this  new  Dante  (as 
the  vicar-general  called  him),  gave  him  cold,  disdainful 
glances. 

"  So  that  is  society  !  "  thought  Lucien,  as  he  returned 
to  his  suburban  abode,  circuitously,  b}^  the  steps  of 
Beaulieu  ;  for  there  are  moments  in  life  when  we  choose 
to  take  a  roundabout  way  and  encourage  by  motion  a 
rush  of  ideas  on  the  current  of  which  we  desire  to  float. 
Far  from  feeling  discouraged,  the  anger  of  his  rejected 
ambition  gave  Lucien  fresh  strength.  Like  all  persons 
led  by  their  instincts  into  a  higher  sphere  which  they 
reach  before  they  know  how  to  sustain  themselves  in 
it,  he  resolved  to  sacrifice  everything  to  secure  his  foot- 
ing in  society.  As  he  walked  along  he  pulled  out  one 
by  one  the  poisoned  darts  which  had  stabbed  liim ;  he 
talked  to  himself  aloud ;  he  abused  the  ninnies  with 
whom  he  liad  to  do ;  he  invented  clever  answers  to  the 
foolish  speeches  which  had  been  made  to  him,  and  was 
furious  with  himself  for  having  thought  of  them  too 


Lost  Illusions.  117 

late.  "When  he  reached  the  Bordeaux  road  which  winds 
around  the  base  of  the  mountain  and  follows  the  bank 
of  the  Chareute,  he  thought  he  saw  by  the  moonlight 
Eve  and  David  sitting  on  a  log  beside  the  river,  and 
he  ran  down  a  side  path  towards  them. 


118  Lost  Illusions. 


IV. 

AN   EVENING    BY   THE    RIVERSIDE. 

While  Lucien  was  making  his  way  to  bis  torture  at 
Madame  de  Bargeton's,  his  sister  was  putting  on  her 
pink  cambric  dress  and  her  white  straw  hat  and  little 
silk  shawl,  a  simple  apparel  which  made  her  seem 
charmingl}^  dressed  —  as  often  happens  to  persons  in 
whom  natural  dignit}'  adds  value  to  the  shghtest  acces- 
sor}'. So  it  happened  that  whenever  she  changed  from 
her  working-dress  to  these  simple  clothes,  she  greatly 
intimidated  David.  Though  the  printer  was  resolved 
to  speak  to  her  of  himself  and  his  wishes,  he  found 
nothing  to  sa}-  to  his  beautiful  Eve  as  he  gave  her  his 
arm  through  the  suburb  of  I'Houmeau.  The  two  lovers 
walked  silentl}-  to  the  bridge  of  Sainte-Anue,  in  order 
to  reach  the  left  bank  of  the  river.  Eve,  who  felt  the 
silence  to  be  awkward,  stopped  at  the  middle  of  the 
bridge  to  look  at  the  river,  which  from  that  point  to 
where  the  powder-mills  stand  forms  a  long  broad  sheet 
of  water,  on  which  the  setting  sun  was  just  then  cast- 
ing a  joyous  trail  of  light. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  evening  !  "  she  said,  seeking  a  sub- 
ject of  conversation  ;  '^  the  air  is  so  warm  and  yet  so 
fresh  ;  the  flowers  smell  so  sweet,  and  what  a  sky  !  " 

"It  speaks  to  the  heart,"  replied  David,  trying  to 
arrive  at  his  love  by  analogy.    ''There  is  iulinite  pleas- 


Lost  Illusions,  119 

yre  for  hearts  tliat  love  when  tlie  accidents  of  a  land- 
scape, the  transparency  of  the  atmosphere,  the  perfumes 
of  the  earth  echo  the  poetr}'  in  their  souls.  Natiue 
speaks  for  them." 

"And  loosens  their  tongues,"  said  Eve,  laughing. 
"  You  were  \Qvy  silent  as  we  crossed  I'Houmeau  ;  you 
embarrassed  me." 

"  I  thought  you  so  beautiful  I  could  find  no  words," 
said  David,  naively. 

"  Am  I  less  beautiful  now?"  she  asked. 

"No;  but  I  am  so  happy  in  being  allowed  to  walk 
alone  with  you  that  — " 

He  stopped,  quite  confounded,  and  looked  at  the  hills 
beyond  them. 

"If  3-0U  find  pleasure  in  this  walk  I  am  very  glad," 
said  Eve.  "  I  felt  bound  to  give  3'ou  a  pleasure  in  ex- 
change for  the  one  you  have  sacrificed  for  me.  In 
refusing  to  go  to  Madame  de  Bargeton's  you  were  as 
generous  as  Lucien,  when  he  risked  the  loss  of  her 
favor  by  his  request." 

"I  was  not  generous,"  said  David,  "I  was  onI\' 
wise.  As  we  are  alone  under  the  skies,  with  none  to 
hear  us  but  the  reeds  and  rushes,  let  me  tell  you,  dear 
Eve,  a  fe^  of  the  anxieties  I  feel  as  to  Lucien's  career. 
After  what  I  have  just  said  to  him  m}^  fears  may  strike 
3'ou,  and  I  hope  the}'  will,  as  an  excess  of  friendh'  soli- 
citude. You  and  your  mother  have  done  3'our  best  to 
raise  him  above  his  position ;  but  in  exciting  his  ambi- 
tion have  you  not  imprudently  involved  him  in  great 
suffering?  How  can  he  maintain  himself  in  the  great 
world  for  which  you  have  encouraged  his  tastes?  I 
know  him  ;  his  is  a  nature  that  loves  the  harvests  with- 


120  Lost  Illusions. 

out  the  toil.  The  duties  of  societ}'  will  take  up  his 
time,  aud  time  is  the  capital  of  men  who  have  no  for- 
tune but  their  intellect.  He  loves  to  shine  ;  the  world 
will  excite  desires  which  he  will  find  it  hard  to  satisf}' ; 
he  will  spend  mone}',  and  earn  none.  You  have  taught 
him  to  think  himself  a  great  man,  but  before  society 
admits  any  man's  greatness  he  must  attain  to  some 
marked  success.  Now  literary  success  cannot  be  won 
except  in  solitude  and  b}'  arduous  toil.  What  can 
Madame  de  Bargeton  give  your  brother  in  return  for 
all  the  hours  which  he  spends  at  her  feet?  Lucien  is  too 
proud  to  accept  support  from  her,  and  we  know  him 
too  poor  to  continue  to  live  in  her  society,  the  cost  of 
which  is  ruinous.  Sooner  or  later  that  woman  will  aban- 
don our  dear  brother,  after  making  him  lose  the  habit 
of  work,  after  developing  in  him  a  taste  for  luxurv, 
a  contempt  for  our  sober  life,  the  love  of  enjoyment, 
and  his  natural  tendency  to  idleness,  —  that  debaucher}- 
of  poetic  minds.  Yes,  I  tremble  lest  his  great  lad}' 
make  a  plaything  of  him.  Either  she  loves  him  sin- 
cereh',  and  will  make  him  forget  everything  and  so  ruin 
his  career,  or  she  does  not  love  him,  and  will  make  him 
wretched  ;  for  he  is  madly  devoted  to  her." 

*' You  chill  me  to  the  heart,"  said  P2ve,  standing  still 
beside  the  river.  *'But  so  long  as  my  mother  has 
strength  for  her  hard  business,  and  so  long  as  I  live, 
the  proceeds  of  our  work  may  be  enough  for  Lucien's 
expenses,  and  will  enable  him  to  wait  the  time  when 
his  success  will  begin.  I  shall  never  fail  in  courage, 
for  the  thought  of  working  for  one  I  love  takes  all  the 
bitterness  and  all  the  weariness  out  of  toil,"  added  Eve, 
brightening.     ''  I  am  happy  when  I  think  who  it  is  for 


Lost  Illusions.  121 

whom  I  work  so  hard  —  if  indeed  it  is  hard.  Yes, 
don't  be  afraid  ;  we  can  earn  enough  money  to  keep 
Lucien  in  the  great  workl.     His  chances  are  all  there." 

"  And  his  destruction,"  said  David.  "  Listen  to  me, 
dear  Eve.  The  slow  execution  of  works  of  genius  re- 
quires either  the  possession  of  a  considerable  fortune, 
or  the  sublime  C3'nicism  of  a  life  of  povert}'.  Believe 
me,  Lucien  has  so  great  a  horror  of  the  privations  of 
povertv,  he  has  smelt  the  aroma  of  feasts  and  the  fumes 
of  success  with  such  satisfaction,  his  self-love  has  been 
so  fostered  in  Madame  de  Bargeton's  boudoir,  that  he 
will  risk  all  rather  than  fail ;  and  the  products  of  3'our 
labor  will  never  meet  his  needs." 

"  Oh,  you  must  be  a  false  friend!"  cried  Eve,  de- 
spairingly. "  Otherwise,  how  can  you  so  discourage 
me?" 

'*  Eve  !  Eve  !  "  replied  David,  "  I  want  to  be  Lucien's 
brother.  You  alone  can  make  me  that.  Then  he  could 
accept  everything  from  me ;  I  should  have  the  right  to 
devote  myself  to  him  with  the  saintly-  love  you  put  into 
your  sacrifices,  but  with  more  discernment.  Eve,  dear 
love,  do  that  which  shall  give  Lucien  a  support  of  which 
he  need  not  be  ashamed.  A  brothers  purse  will  be 
like  liis  own.  If  3'ou  only  knew  the  thoughts  which 
Lucien's  new  position  suggests  to  me  !  Should  he  in- 
sist on  going  to  Madame  de  Bargeton's  the  poor  lad 
must  cease  to  be  m}'  foreman ;  he  cannot  live  here  in 
the  suburbs  ;  you  must  not  be  a  working-girl ;  your  mother 
must  give  up  her  business.  If  you  will  consent  to  be 
my  wife  all  these  difficulties  will  be  overcome.  Lucien 
can  occupy  the  second  story  over  us  while  I  build  him 
an  apartment  of  his  own  above  the  shed  in  the  court- 


122  Lost  Illusions. 

yard,  unless  my  father  could  be  persuaded  to  raise  the 
house.  We  should  thus  enable  him  to  lead  a  life  free 
of  care,  an  independent  life.  My  desire  to  further  Lu- 
cien's  prospects  will  give  me  a  courage  to  make  m}'  for- 
tune which  I  might  not  have  had  for  myself ;  but  it  all 
depends  on  3'ou,  you  must  authorize  my  devotion.  Per- 
haps he  will  one  day  go  to  Paris,  the  onl}^  place  where 
success  for  him  is  to  be  had,  and  where  his  talents  will 
certainly  be  appreciated  and  rewarded.  But  life  in 
Paris  is  dear,  and  it  will  take  the  efforts  of  all  three 
of  us  to  support  him  there.  Besides,  jon  need,  and 
so  does  your  mother,  some  one  to  rely  on.  Dear 
Eve,  marry  me  out  of  love  to  Lucien.  Later  3'ou  will 
love  me,  perhaps,  when  you  see  my  efforts  to  serve  him 
and  make  you  happy.  We  are  both  simple  in  our 
tastes,  —  we  need  but  little  ;  Lucien's  welfare  will  be  our 
chief  concern,  and  his  heart  the  treasure-house  where 
we  will  put  fortune,  feelings,  sensations,  everything  !  " 

"But  conventions  separate  us,"  said  P^ve,  deeply 
moved  by  the  great  love  which  counted  itself  for  so  lit- 
tle. "You  are  rich,  and  I  am  poor.  It  needs  much  love 
to  overcome  so  great  a  difficult}'." 

''And  you  don't  love  me  enough  to  face  it?"  said 
David,  sadl}'. 

"  But  your  father  would  oppose  it,"  she  began. 

"Good,  good!"  cried  David;  "  if  there  is  onl}' m}' 
father  to  consider,  you  are  my  wife.  Eve,  dear  Eve, 
you  make  life  easy  for  me  to  bear  from  this  moment. 
My  heart  has  been  heavy  enough  with  feelings  I  could 
not  express.  Tell  me  only  that  you  will  love  me  a  little, 
and  I  will  find  the  necessary  courage  to  speak  to  you 
of  certain  matters." 


Lost  Illusions,  123 

.*'  You  make  me  ashamed,"  she  said  ;  "  but  since  we 
are  now  speaking  our  real  feelings  I  will  tell  you  that  I 
never  in  my  life  thought  of  anyone  but  you.  You  have 
alwa3's  seemed  to  me  a  man  to  whom  a  woman  might 
be  proud  of  belonging ;  but  how  could  I  think  that  I,  a 
poor  work-girl  without  a  future,  should  have  such  a 
future  given  to  me  ?  '' 

"  Oh,  enough,  enough,"  he  said  suddenl}',  sitting 
down  on  the  cross-piece  of  the  weir  near  which  they 
were  standing. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked,  expressing  for 
the  first  time  the  tender  solicitude  women  feel  for  those 
who  belong  to  them. 

"  Nothing  but  good,"  he  replied.  '^  Seeing  m}'  whole 
life  made  happ}',  m}'  head  seemed  to  turn,  my  soul  was 
overwhelmed.  Ah!  why  should  I  be  the  happiest?" 
he  said  half  sadh'.     '*  But  I  know." 

Eve  looked  at  David  with  a  coquettish  air  of  doubt 
which  asked  an  explanation. 

"Dear  Eve,  I  receive  more  than  I  give.  I  shall  al- 
ways love  you  more  than  you  love  me,  for  I  shall  have 
more  reason  to  love  you,  —  you  are  an  angel,  I  am  a 
man." 

"  I  am  not  so  learned  in  the  matter,"  repHed  Eve, 
smiling  ;   "  but  I  love  you  truly  —  " 

"As  much  as  you  love  Lucien?"  he  asked,  interrupt- 
ing her. 

"  Enough  to  be  3'our  wife,  to  consecrate  myself  to 
you  and  try  to  give  you  no  pain  in  the  life  —  often  a 
little  hard  —  which  we  shall  live  together." 

"  Did  3'ou  know,  dear  Eve,  that  I  loved  3'ou  from  the 
day  we  first  saw  each  other  ?  " 


124  Lost  Illusions. 

"What  woman  does  not  know  when  she  is  loved?" 
Eve  answered. 

*'  Now  I  must  remove  3'our  scruples  about  my  wealth. 
Eve,  I  am  poor.  Yes,  my  father  took  pleasure  in  ruin- 
ing me ;  he  speculated  on  my  work,  like  many  other 
pretended  benefactors.  If  I  ever  become  rich  it  will  be 
through  you.  That  is  not  a  lover's  speech,  it  is  the  re- 
flection of  a  thinker.  I  ought  to  let  you  know  m}' 
defects,  which  are  great  in  a  man  obliged  to  make  his 
own  fortune.  My  character,  my  habits,  the  occupations 
which  give  me  pleasure  unfit  me  for  everything  which 
is  business  and  speculation,  and  j'et  we  can  become 
prosperous  only  by  applying  ourselves  to  some  form  of 
industr3\  I  might  perhaps  discover  a  gold  mine,  but  I 
should  be  singularly  incapable  of  working  it.  But  you, 
who  have  learned,  out  of  love  for  your  brother,  to 
attend  to  small  details,  who  have  a  genius  for  manage- 
ment and  econom}',  and  the  patient  attention  of  a  true 
merchant,  you  will  gather  the  harvest  that  I  shall  sow. 
Our  situation  —  for  you  know,  dear,  I  have  long  found 
a  home  in  the  bosom  of  3'our  family  —  fills  my  heart 
with  such  anxiety  that  I  spend  days  and  nights  in  think- 
ing how  to  make  a  fortune  for  us  all.  M}'  knowledge 
of  chemistry,  and  my  observation  of  the  needs  of  com- 
merce have  put  me  on  the  track  of  a  lucrative  discover}'. 
We  may  be  pinched  for  a  few  years,  perhaps,  but  I  shall 
end  by  finding  the  practical  means  of  using  that  dis- 
covery which  will  bring  us.  a  great  fortune.  I  have  said 
nothing  about  it  to  Lucien ;  his  eager  nature  might 
spoil  all ;  he  would  convert  m}'  hopes  into  realities,  and 
live  as  a  great  lord  and  perhaps  run  in  debt  to  do  so. 
Therefore  keep  my  secret.     Your  dear  and  sweet  com- 


Lost  Illusions.  125 

jjanionship  can  alone  comfort  me  under  the  trials  I  see 
before  me,  just  as  the  hope  of  enriching  you  and  Lucien 
will  give  me  constanc\-  and  a  firm  will.*' 

"I  was  certain,''  said  Eve,  interrupting  him,  "that 
you  were  one  of  those  inventors  to  whom  a  wife  is 
necessary  —  as  in  the  case  of  my  poor  father." 

"Then  you  love  me  !  Ah,  say  it  to  me  fearlessly, — 
to  me  who  see  in  your  name  the  s^-mbol  of  my  love. 
Eve  was  the  onh*  woman  in  the  world,  and  what  was 
materialh-  true  for  Adam  is  morally  true  for  me.  My 
God  !  do  3'ou  love  me?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  lengthening  the  simple  syllable  by 
the  way  she  pronounced  it,  as  if  to  picture  the  extent 
of  her  feelings. 

"  Then  let  us  sit  down  here,"  he  said,  leading  her  to 
a  large  log  lying  near  the  wheel  of  a  paper-mill.  ''Let 
me  breathe  the  evening  air  and  listen  to  the  tree-frogs, 
and  watch  the  moonlight  trembling  on  the  water ;  let 
me  grasp  the  nature  in  which  I  see  m}'  happiness  as  in 
a  book ;  it  appears  to  me  to-night  for  the  first  time  in 
all  its  splendor,  lighted  by  love,  mads  beautiful  b}'  you. 
Eve,  my  dear  love,  this  is  the  first  moment  of  happi- 
ness, unalWed,  which  fate  has  given  me.  I  doubt  if 
Lucien  can  ever  be  as  happy  as  I  am." 

Feeling  Eve's  moist  and  trembling  hand  in  his,  a  tear 
fell  from  David's  eyes. 

"  Am  I  to  know  the  great  secret?  "  asked  Eve  in  a 
coaxing  tone. 

"  You  have  a  right  to,  for  your  father  busied  himself 
with  the  same  question,  which  is  now  becoming  a  serious 
one  ;  and  I  will  tell  you  whj*.  The  fall  of  the  Empire 
will  make  the  use  of  cotton  in  place  of  linen  almost  uni- 


126  Lost  Illusions. 

versal  on  account  of  its  cheaper  price.  At  the  present 
moment  paper  is  made  with  rags  of  flax  and  linen,  but 
these  are  dear,  and  their  cost  checks  the  great  impetus 
which  the  French  printing-press  must  inevitabl}-  feel. 
Now  the  production  of  rags  cannot  be  forced.  Kags 
depend  on  the  use  of  linen,  and  the  population  of  a  coun- 
try will  use  onl}'  a  certain  quantity.  This  quantity  will 
increase  onl}^  through  an  increase  in  the  number  of 
births.  If,  therefore,  the  need  of  paper  is  greater  than 
the  supply  of  rags  produced  b}^  France,  it  becomes  ne- 
cessar}^,  in  order  to  keep  paper  at  a  low  price,  to  find  a 
means  of  manufacturing  it  from  some  other  product  than 
linen  rags.  This  reasoning  rests  on  a  fact  that  is  now 
occurring  here.  The  paper  manufacturers  of  Angou- 
leme,  the  last  who  are  making  paper  from  linen  rags, 
see  that  the  use  of  cotton  cloth  is  taking  the  place  of 
that  of  linen  with  alarming  rapiditj'." 

In  reply  to  a  question  of  Eve,  who  knew  but  little  of 
the  subject,  David  gave  her  much  information  on  the 
subject  of  paper-making,  which  ma}'  not  be  out  of  place 
in  a  work  the  material  existence  of  which  owes  as  much 
to  paper  as  it  does  to  print.  But  this  long  parenthesis 
between  a  lover  and  his  mistress  will  not  lose  by  being 
slightl}'  abridged. 

Paper,  a  product  not  less  marvellous  than  the  printed 
impression  of  which  it  is  the  base,  had  long  been  fabri- 
cated in  China  at  a  time  when,  b}-  the  subterranean 
paths  of  commerce,  it  reached  Asia  Minor,  where,  tra- 
dition says,  a  paper  made  of  cotton,  soaked  and  reduced 
to  pulp,  was  in  use  about  the  year  750.  The  necessity' 
for  finding  a  substitute  for  parchment,  the  cost  of  which 
was  excessive,  led  to  the  discovery,  through  an  imita- 


Loit  Illusions.  127 

tion  of  the  "  bonibycian  paper"  (the  name  given  to  this 
cotton  paper  of  the  East),  of  the  linen-rag  paper,  some 
say  at  Bale  in  1170  by  Greek  refugees ;  others  think  at 
Padua  in  1301  by  an  Italian  named  Pax.  This  paper 
was  brought  to  perfection  slowly  and  obscurely  ;  but  it 
is  certain  that  under  Charles  VI.  a  pulp  for  playing- 
cards  was  manufactured  in  Paris.  After  the  Immortals, 
Faust,  Coster,  and  Guttenberg  had  invented  The  Book, 
artisans,  forever  unknown  like  so  many  of  the  great 
artists  of  that  period,  adapted  paper-making  to  the 
needs  of  typograph}'.  In  the  vigorous  and  simple- 
minded  fifteenth  centur}-,  the  names  of  the  different 
sizes  of  papers,  like  the  names  given  to  types,  bore  the 
impress  of  the  naivete  of  the  times.  The  Raisin,  Jesus, 
Colombier,  the  ''papier  Pot,"  the  Ecu,  Coquille,  and 
Crown,  took  their  respective  names  from  the  grape, 
the  image  of  our  Lord,  the  dove,  crown,  and  pot,  —  in 
short,  from  the  water-mark  in  the  centre  of  each  sheet ; 
where,  in  Napoleon's  time,  they  stamped  an  eagle  and 
called  the  paper  b}'  that  name.  In  like  manner  the 
types  were  named  Cicero,  Augustine,  Gros-Canon,  from 
the  liturgical  and  theological  works  and  the  treatises  of 
Cicero,  for  which  those  types  were  first  used.  lUlics 
were  invented  b}^  the  Aldini  in  Venice ;  hence  thtv 
name.  Before  the  invention  of  machine-made  paper, 
the  length  of  which  is  unlimited,  the  largest  sizes  were 
the  "  Grand-Je'sus  "  and  the  "  Grand-Colombier,"  the 
latter  being  used  only  for  maps  and  engravings.  In 
fact,  dimensions  of  printing-paper  were  regulated  bj- 
that  of  the  bed  of  the  press.  At  the  time  when  David 
was  telling  Eve  these  facts  the  manufacture  of  paper  of 
continuous  length  was  still  problematical  in   France, 


128  Lost  Illusions. 

though  Denis  Robert  of  Essonne  had  invented,  in  1799, 
a  machine  for  making  it,  which  Didot-Saint-Leger  after- 
wards perfected.  Glazed  white  paper,  invented  hv 
Ambroise  Didot,  onh'  dates  back  to  1780.  This  rapid 
glance  at  paper-making  shows  incontestable'  that  all  the 
greatest  acquisitions  of  indiistr}'  and  intellect  are  made 
with  extreme  slowness  and  b}'  imperceptible  accretions, 
as  in  the  processes  of  nature.  To  attain  perfection, 
writing,  and  also  language,  have  groped  their  wa}'  with 
as  man}^  delays  as  tj'pography  and  paper-making. 

"  Rag-pickers  have  collected  throughout  Europe  old 
linen  and  the  fragments  of  ever}'  kind  of  tissue,"  said 
David,  ending  his  account.  *'  These  remnants,  care- 
full}^  sorted,  are  stored  b}''  the  wholesale  rag-dealers, 
who  suppl}'  the  paper-makers.  To  give  3'ou  an  idea  of 
this  business,  mademoiselle,  I  must  tell  you  that  in 
1814  the  banker  Cardon  (owner  of  the  mills  at  Biiges 
and  Langlee,  where  Leorier  de  ITsle  tried  in  177G  to 
solve  the  problem  wh^ch  your  father  studied  so  long) 
had  a  lawsuit  with  a  man  named  Proust  about  an  error 
of  two  millions  of  pounds  of  rags  in  a  matter  of  ten  mil- 
lions,, itepresenting  four  millions  of  francs.  The  manu- 
facWrer  cleanses  the  rags  and  reduces  them  to  a  clear 
'pulp,  which  is  made  to  pass,  exactly  as  a  cook  passes 
her  sauces  tiu-ough  a  sieve,  over  an  iron  frame,  the 
inside  of  which  is  filled  with  a  metallic  sheet,  in  the 
middle  of  which  is  the  stamp  of  the  mark  which  gives 
its  name  to  the  paper.  The  size  of  the  *  form  '  de- 
pends on  the  size  of  the  paper.  When  I  was  an  ap- 
prentice with  the  Didots,  they  were  much  concerned 
with  this  very  matter,  and  so  they  are  still ;  for  the 
perfection  at  which  your  father  aimed  has  become  in 


Lost  Illusions.  129 

our  daj'  an  imperious  necessiU'.  And  I  will  tell  you 
wh}'.  Though  the  lasting  qualities  of  linen,  compared 
to  those  of  cotton,  make  linen  in  the  long  run  as  cheap, 
or  clieaper,  than  cotton,  yet,  as  the  difliculty  with  the 
poor  is  to  draw  the  immediate  price  from  their  pockets, 
they  prefer  to  pay  less  rather  than  more,  and  so  lose 
enormoush'  in  virtue  of  the  vce  victis.  The  bourgeois 
class  follow  the  poorer  classes  in  this.  Consequently,  the 
supply  of  linen  rags  is  beginning  to  fail.  In  England, 
where  cotton  has  taken  the  place  of  linen  among  three 
fourths  of  the  population,  they  now  make  onl}'  cotton 
paper.  This  paper,  which  had,  at  first,  the  defect  of 
tearing  and  splitting,  is  so  easily'  dissolved  in  water 
that  a  pound  of  it,  put  to  soak,  would  turn  into  liquid 
in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  whereas  a  pound  of  the  linen 
paper  might  stay  in  water  two  hours  without  change. 
The  latter  could  be  dried  and  ironed,  and  though  rather 
yellowed,  the  text  would  still  be  readable  and  the 
work  not  destroyed.  We  have  come  to  a  period  where 
fortunes  are  greatl}^  diminished  by  equalization ;  every 
one  is  poorer ;  we  now  demand  cheaper  linen  and 
cheaper  books,  just  as  we  now  want  small  pictures  for 
want  of  space  for  larger  ones.  The  result  is  that  shirts 
and  books  doi)'t  last.  Solidit}'  and  strength  in  manu- 
factured products  are  disappearing  everywhere.  There- 
fore the  problem  now  to  be  solved  is  of  the  greatest 
importance  to  literature  and  to  science  and  politics.  A 
livelj*  discussion,  at  which  I  was  present,  took  place 
one  da}'  in  the  Didot  office  as  to  the  ingredients  used  in 
China  for  making  paper.  There,  thanks  to  the  supply  of 
raw  material,  paper-making  has  from  its  earliest  stages 
attained  a  perfection  which  ours  has  never  reached.     A 

9 


130  Lost  Illusions. 

great  deal  was  said  on  this  occasion  about  Chinese 
paper,  and  how  our  own  could  n't  compare  with  it  for 
lightness  and  delicacy,  —  precious  qualities  which  do  not 
binder  it  from  having  substance,  for,  thin  as  it  is,  it  is 
never  transparent.  A  corrector  of  the  press,  — there  are 
man}^  learned  correctors  in  Paris ;  Fourier  and  Pierre 
Leroux  are  at  this  moment  correcting  in  the  printing- 
offices  of  Lachevardiere,  but  this  was  the  Comte  de 
Saint-Simon,  a  proof-reader  for  the  time  being,  —  he 
happened  to  come  to  the  Didot  office  in  the  midst  of  the 
discussion.  He  told  us  that,  according  to  Kempfer  and 
du  Halde,  brushwood  supplied  the  Chinese  with  the 
vegetable  matter  of  their  paper.  Another  corrector  de- 
clared that  the  material  of  Chinese  paper  was  chiefly 
animal,  made  from  silk,  which  is  very  abundant  in 
China.  A  bet  was  made  in  m}'  presence.  As  the 
Didots  are  printers  to  the  Institute,  the  matter  was 
naturally  referred  by  them  to  certain  members  of  that 
learned  assembly.  Monsieur  Marcel,  formerly  director 
of  the  Imperial  printing-office,  was  chosen  umpire,  and 
he  sent  our  two  proof-readers  to  the  Abbe  Grozier, 
librarian  of  the  Arsenal.  The  latter  decided  that  both 
sides  had  lost  the  bet.  Chinese  paper,  the  abb^  said, 
was  not  made  of  either  silk  or  brushwood ;  its  sub- 
stance came  from  the  fibres  of  the  bamboo.  The  Abbe 
Grozier  owned  a  Chinese  book  iconographic  and  also 
technological,  in  which  were  numerous  sketches  exhibit- 
ing the  manufacture  of  paper  in  all  its  phases ;  and  lie 
showed  us  strips  of  bamboo  piled  in  a  heap  in  one  of 
these  drawings.  When  Lucien  told  me  that  your  father, 
with  the  sort  of  intuition  which  belongs  to  men  of 
genius,  had  foreseen  a  means  of  substituting  for  linen 


Lost  Illusions.  131 

rags  a  vegetable-matter  that  was  extremely  common 
and  could  be  used  in  the  form  of  raw  material,  I  began 
to  classify  all  the  tentatives  of  m}'  predecessors,  and  to 
study  the  question  seriousl}'.  The  bamboo  is  a  reed ; 
I  naturally  thought  of  our  own  native  reeds.  Hand- 
labor  costs  nothing  in  China,  only  three  sous  a  da3\ 
Therefore  the  Chinese  are  able,  when  the}'  take  tlieir 
paper  from  the  '  form,'  to  la}-  it,  sheet  by  sheet,  be- 
tween white  porcelain  slabs,  well-heated,  b}'  means  of 
which  they  press  it  and  give  it  the  lustre,  substance, 
lightness,  and  satin}'  texture,  which  make  it  the  best 
paper  in  the  world.  Well,  the  thing  to  do  was  to  dis- 
cover a  way  of  mechanically  replacing  the  hand-labor 
of  the  Chinese  ;  it  can  be  done  by  machinery  so  as  to 
bring  down  the  price  to  the  same  cheap  cost.  If  we 
succeed  in  producing  a  paper  of  the  Chinese  quality  at 
a  low  price,  we  shall  diminish  by  more  than  half  the 
bulk  and  weight  of  books.  A  bound  Voltaire,  which 
now  weighs,  in  our  heavy  white  paper,  two  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds,  will  then  weigh  about  fifty.  That  is  cer- 
tainly a  great  gain.  The  space  required  for  libraries  is 
becoming  a  question  of  difficulty,  especially  in  these 
days  when  the  tendency  of  men  and  things  is  to  reduce 
all  compass,  even  in  architecture.  All  the  great  man- 
sions in  Paris  are  gradually  being  demolished  ;  there 
are  no  longer  any  fortunes  in  keeping  with  the  fine  old 
dwellings  of  our  forefathers.  What  a  shame  for  our 
century  to  be  manufacturing  books  that  will  not  last. 
Another  ten  years  and  Holland  paper,  that  is  to  say, 
paper  made  of  linen  thread,  will  be  a  thing  unknown ! 
Now,  your  brother  communicated  to  me  your  father's 
idea  of  using  certain  fibrous  plants  in  the  manufacture 


132  Lost  Illusions. 

of  paper,  and  therefore,  3'ou  see,  if  I  succeed,  you  have 
a  right  to  —  " 

At  this  point,  Lucien,  having  seen  them  from  the 
road,  ran  down  to  join  them  and  silenced  David's  gener- 
ous proposal. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  j'ou  have  had  a  pleasant 
evening,"  he  said ;  "to  me  it  has  been  a  dreadful  one." 

"  My  poor  Lucien,  what  has  happened?  "  asked  Eve, 
noticing  the  excitement  in  her  brother's  face. 

The  angr}'  poet  related  his  grievances,  pouring  into 
these  loving  hearts  the  flood  of  thoughts  that  assailed 
his  own.  Eve  and  David  listened  in  silence,  grieved  at 
the  torrent  of  distress,  which  showed  an  equal  amount 
of  grandeur  and  of  pettiness  in  the  sufferer. 

"  Monsieur  de  Bargeton,"  said  Lucien,  concluding  his 
tale,  "  is  an  old  man  likel}*  to  be  taken  oflTany  day  by  an 
indigestion.  I  will  bring  those  proud  persons  to  submis- 
sion b}'  marrying  Madame  de  Bargeton.  I  saw  in  her 
ej'es  to-night  a  love  that  is  equal  to  my  own.  Yes,  she 
felt  my  wounds,  she  calmed  my  sufferings ;  she  is  as 
grand  and  noble  as  she  is  beautiful  and  gracious.  No, 
she  will  never  betray  me!  " 

''  Is  not  this  the  moment  to  promise  him  an  easier 
life?"  whispered  David  to  his  love. 

Eve  pressed  his  arm  silently,  and  David,  understand- 
ing her  thoughts,  hastened  to  tell  Lucien  all  their  plans. 
The  lovers  were  as  full  of  their  hopes  as  Lucien  was  of 
his  ;  so  eager  were  they  to  make  their  dear  brother  a 
sharer  in  their  happiness  that  Eve  and  David  did  not 
notice  the  start  of  surprise  with  which  the  lover  of  Ma- 
dame de  Bargeton  received  the  news  of  his  sister's 
betrothal  to  David.     Lucien,  who  had  been  dreaminjr  of 


Lost  Illusions.  133 

a  fine  alliance  for  Eve,  when  he  himself  had  attained  a 
position  (meaning  thereby  to  prop  his  ambition  by  the 
help  of  some  powerful  family),  was  shocked  at  the  idea 
of  a  marriage  which,  it  seemed  to  him,  would  put  one 
more  obstacle  in  the  way  of  his  social  success. 

"  Madame  de  Bargeton  might  consent  to  be  Madame 
de  Rubempr6,  but  she  will  never  agree  to  be  the  sister- 
in-law  of  David  Sechard ! ''  That  sentence  is  a  net 
formula  of  the  thoughts  that  now  tortured  Lucien's 
heart.  "  Yes,  Louise  was  right,"  he  said  to  himself, 
bitterl}- ;  "men  with  a  great  future  before  them  are 
never  understood  by  their  own  families." 

If  the  news  of  the  betrothal  had  reached  him  at  any- 
other  moment  than  this, when  he  had  killed  off  Monsieur 
de  Bargeton  with  so  much  ease,  it  would  have  made  him 
jump  for  J03'.  He  would  then  have  reflected  on  his 
actual  situation  and  seen  the  probable  fate  of  a  beauti- 
ful and  portionless  girl,  and  the  marriage  would  have 
seemed  to  him  an  unhoped-for  good  fortune.  But  he 
was  now  in  the  world  of  golden  dreams,  where  youthful 
heroes  astride  of  an  "if"  can  jump  all  barriers.  He 
had  just  beheld  himself  in  fancy,  mastering  that  inso- 
lent societ}',  and  to  fall  so  soon  into  realit}'  was  cruel  in- 
deed. Eve  and  David  only  thought  that  their  brother, 
overwhelmed  by  generosit}',  was  unable  to  speak.  To 
these  noble  hearts  a  silent  acceptance  showed  the  truest 
friendship.  The  printer  began  to  picture  with  cordial, 
tender  eloquence  the  happiness  in  store  for  all  four  of 
them.  In  spite  of  Eve's  interjections,  he  furnished  the 
new  home  with  a  lover's  luxury' ;  with  ingenuous  good 
faith  he  built  his  second  story  for  Lucien's  benefit,  and 
kept  the  room  over  tlie  shed  for  Madame  Chardon,  to 


134  Lost  Illusions, 

whom  he  intended  to  give  a  son's  support.  In  short, 
he  made  ever}^  one  so  happy  and  his  brother  so  inde- 
pendent that  Lucien,  charmed  by  his  voice  and  by  Eve's 
caresses,  forgot,  in  that  balmy  atmosphere  beside  the 
calm  and  moonlit  river,  and  beneath  the  starry  skies,  the 
wounding  crown  of  thorns  which  society  had  thrust  upon 
his  head.  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  returned  to  his  natural 
thoughts  of  David.  The  mobilit}'  of  his  character  threw 
him  back  into  the  sentiment  of  the  pure,  work-day, 
bourgeois  life  of  the  family.  He  saw  it  beautified  by 
the  coming  marriage,  and  himself  released  of  cares. 
The  echoes  of  the  aristocratic  world  receded  from  him, 
so  that  when  the  trio  reached  the  suburb  the  ambitious 
poet  pressed  his  brother's  hand  and  announced  himself 
in  unison  with  the  happy  lovers. 

"Provided  j'our  father  does  not  object  to  the  mar- 
riage," he  said  to  David. 

"As  if  he  cared  one  wa}^  or  the  other  about  me ! 
The  old  man  lives  for  himself.  But  I  shall  go  to  Mar- 
sac  to-morrow  and  see  him,  if  onlv  to  get  him  to  make 
the  improvements  we  want  to  the  house." 

David  accompanied  the  brother  and  sister  to  their 
home,  where  they  found  Madame  Chardon,  from  whom 
he  asked  the  hand  of  Eve  with  the  eagerness  of  a  man 
who  could  bear  no  delay.  The  mother  took  her 
daughter's  hand  and  placed  it  in  tliat  of  David  J03'- 
fully,  and  the  lover  thus  emboldened  kissed  the  fore- 
head of  his  beautiful  Eve,  who  smiled  at  him  and 
blushed. 

"  This  is  the  betrothal  of  poor  people,"  said  tlie 
mother,  raising  her  eyes  as  if  to  implore  the  blessing 
of  God.     "You  have  plenty  of  courage,  my  son,"  she 


Loit  Illusions,  135 

said  to  David ;  "for  misfortune  is  with  us,  and  I  trem- 
ble lest  it  be  contagious." 

''  We  shall  be  rich  and  happy,"  said  David,  gravel}'. 
"For  one  thing,  3'ou  shall  no  longer  go  out  nursing; 
you  must  come  and  live  with  your  daughter  and  son  in 
Angouleme." 

The  three  3'oung  people  hastened  to  tell  their  aston- 
ished mother  of  their  charming  plans,  giving  free  rein 
to  one  of  those  ga}*  family  talks  in  which  3'oung  hearts 
delight  in  gathering  every  seed,  and  in  tasting,  by  an- 
ticipation, every  jo}'.  It  was  necessar\'  at  last  to  turn 
David  out  of  doors ;  he  would  fain  have  made  that 
evening  eternal.  It  was  striking  one  in  the  morning 
when  Lucien  accompanied  his  future  brother-in-law  as 
far  as  the  Porte  Palet.  The  worth}'  Postel,  uneasy  at 
these  extraordinary  doings,  was  standing  behind  his 
blinds  ;  he  had  opened  his  window  and  when  he  saw  the 
lights  at  this  late  hour  in  Eve's  apartment,  he  said  to 
himself,  •'  Something  strange  is  happening  at  the 
Chardons'." 

"  My  lad,"  he  said  when  Lucien  returned,  "  is  any- 
thing the  matter  ?     Can  I  be  useful  ?  " 

"No,  monsieur,"  answered  the  poet,  "but  as  you 
are  such  a  friend  I  will  tell  you  the  secret ;  my 
mother  has  just  granted  my  sister's  hand  to  David 
Sechard." 

For  all  answer  Postel  shut  his  window  violently,  in 
despair  at  not  having  already  asked  for  Mademoiselle 
Chardon  himself. 

Instead  of  returning  to  Angouleme,  David  took  the 
road  to  Marsac.  He  walked  along  on  his  way  to  see 
his   father   and   reached    the   enclosed   field   adjoining 


136  Lost  Illusions. 

the  house  just  as  the  sun  was  rising.  The  lover  pres- 
entl}'  saw  on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge  beneath  an 
aUnoud  tree  the  head  of  the  old  bear. 

*'  Good  morning,  father,"  said  David. 

"Dear  me!  is  that  you,  bo}'?  What  chance  has 
brought  you  here  at  this  hour?  Come  in  that  way," 
said  the  old  man,  pointing  to  a  little  iron  gate.  ''My 
vines  are  all  through  flowering,  not  a  shoot  frozen ! 
There'll  be  twenty  puncheons  to  the  acre  this  3'ear; 
but  then,  just  see  how  it  was  manured." 

"  Father,  I  came  to  speak  of  an  important  matter," 

"Did  you?  well,  how  go  the  presses?  3'ou  ought  to 
be  earning  loads  of  mone3\" 

"  I  shall  earn  it,  father  ;  but  for  the  present  at  least 
I  am  not  rich." 

''  They  tell  me  here  I  put  too  much  manure,"  said 
the  father.  "These  bourgeois,  or  rather  Monsieur  le 
marquis,  Monsieur  le  comte,  and  Monsieur  this,  that, 
and  the  other,  insist  that  I  spoil  the  quality  of  the  wine. 
What's  the  good  of  education?  onh'  to  muddle  3'our 
brains.  Just  listen :  those  gentlemen  get  eight  or  ten 
puncheons  to  the  acre,  and  sell  them  at  sixty  francs  a 
puncheon  ;  which  comes,  at  the  most,  to  four  hundred 
francs  an  acre  in  the  good  3'ears.  I  get  twenty  pun- 
cheons, and  sell  at  thirt3'  francs.  Who  's  the  silly  there, 
I  'd  like  to  know  ?  Quality  !  quality  !  what  do  I  care 
about  quality?  They  can  keep  their  quality  to  them- 
selves  ;  as  for  me  quality  is  francs.  What  were  you 
going  to  say  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  be  married,  father,  and  I  came  to 
ask  you — " 

*'  Ask  me  !   for  what?  nothing  at  all,  my  lad.    Marry 


Lost  Illusions.  137 

if  you  like  ;  I  consent.  But  as  for  giving  3'ou  anything, 
I  have  n't  a  penn}'  for  myself.  F(n-  the  last  two  years 
farming  and  taxes  and  expenses  of  all  kinds  have 
ruined  me ;  the  government  takes  all.  For  the  last 
two  years  we  poor  vineyard-owners  have  made  nothing. 
This  isn't  a  bad  year  so  far,  and  yet  m}*  rascalh'  pun- 
cheons won't  bring  more  than  eleven  francs  ;  it  is  reall}- 
working  for  the  caskmakers.  Wh}'  do  you  marry  before 
the  harvest  ?  " 

*'  Father,  I  only  came  to  ask  3-our  consent." 

''Oh,  ver}'  good,  that's  another  matter.  Who  is  it 
that  you  are  going  to  marr}-,  if  I  maj'  ask  ?  " 

"  Mademoiselle  Eve  Chardon." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"  The  daughter  of  the  late  Monsieur  Chardon,  the 
apothecar}'  at  THoumeau." 

"And  so  3'ou  marr}'  a  girl  of  the  suburbs,  —  you, 
a  bourgeois,  printer  to  the  king  in  Angouleme !  This 
comes  of  education  !  Yes,  yes,  send  our  sons  to  school, 
indeed  !  I  suppose  she  's  rich,  my  boy  I  "  said  the  old 
fellow,  with  a  sh*  look  at  his  son.  •'•  If  you  marr}'  a  girl 
from  the  suburbs  she  ought  to  have  hundreds  and 
thousands.  So  much  the  better,  she  '11  pay  my  rent. 
Do  you  know,  m}'  lad,  that  it  is  now  two  years  and 
three  months  since  you  have  paid  it,  and  that 's  two 
thousand  seven  hundred  francs  that  you  owe  me  ;  it  will 
come  in  handy  to  pay  for  my  puncheons.  If  3'ou  were 
not  my  son  I  should  make  you  pa}-  interest  on  it,  for, 
after  all,  business  is  business.  But  I  '11  let  3'ou  off 
this  time.     "Well,  how  much  has  she?'* 

"  The  same  that  my  mother  had." 

The  old  man  was  about  to  say  :  "  She  had  only  ten 


138  Lost  Illusions. 

thousand  francs  !  "  But  remembering  that  he  had  re- 
fused all  accounts  to  his  son,  he  exclaimed :  "  Then  she 
has  nothing !  " 

"My  mother's  fortune  was  her  beautj'." 

"Go  to  the  market  and  see  what  you'll  get  for 
them !  Heavens !  what  misery  fathers  do  la}'  up  for 
themselves  in  sons.  David,  when  I  married  I  had  a 
paper  cap  on  m}"  head  and  two  arms  with  which  to 
make  my  fortune.  I  was  a  poor  bear  ;  while  you,  with 
the  fine  printing-office  I  gave  3'ou,  and  your  chances 
and  acquaintances,  you  ought  to  marrj-  a  town  bour- 
geoise  with  thirty  or  fort}'  thousand  francs.  Give  up 
this  nonsense,  and  I  '11  marr}^  you  well.  There 's  a 
widow  here,  about  thirt^'-two  3'ears  old,  keeps  a  flour- 
mill,  with*  a  hundred  thousand  francs  if  she  has  a  penny  ; 
that's  what  you  want.  Her  property  and  Marsac  join 
each  other ;  we  shall  have  a  fine  domain,  and  I  '11  man- 
age the  whole.  They  do  say  she  is  going  to  marry 
Comtois,  her  head  man,  but  j'ou  are  better  worth  hav- 
ing. I  '11  look  after  the  mill  while  she  shows  oflf  at 
Angouleme." 

"  Father,  I  am  pledged." 

"  David,  you  don't  understand  business,  and  you'll 
be  ruined  ;  3'Ou  are  very  near  it  now.  If  you  marry 
that  girl  from  FHoumeau  3-our  accounts  with  me  must 
be  settled ;  I  shall  summon  3'ou  to  pa}-  up  the  rent,  for 
I  see  no  prospect  of  your  doing  better.  Ah !  mv 
poor  presses  !  m}'  poor  presses !  Nothing  but  a  good 
3'ear  with  the  vines  can  console  me  for  this." 

"  Wli3',  father,  I  have  never  given  you  any  cause  of 
annoyance." 

"You  have  never  paid  any  rent,"  said  his  father. 


Lost  Illusions.  139 

^'  I  came  to  ask  3'ou,"  said  David,  "  not  onl}*  to  con- 
sent to  the  marriage,  but  to  help  me  to  raise  the  second 
story  of  your  house,  and  put  a  room  over  the  shed." 

*'  Not  a  bit  of  it !  I  have  n't  a  sou,  and  3*00  know 
that  very  well.  Besides,  it  would  be  throwing  mone}' 
into  the  sea;  what  interest  would  it  pa}-  me?  Ha,  ha! 
so  you  got  up  at  cock-crow  to  come  out  here  and  ask  me 
to  undertake  buildings  that  would  ruin  a  king.  Though 
I  did  name  }'0u  David,  I  haven't  the  treasures  of  Solo- 
mon. You  're  craz}' !  or  else  they  changed  my  son  at 
nurse  —  There  's  one  that  will  bear  well,"  he  said, 
interrupting  himself  to  show  a  vine-shoot  to  David ; 
'that's  a  child  that  won't  betray  the  hopes  of  its 
parents  ;  manure  it,  and  you  get  your  profits.  Now 
look  at  me  ;  I  put  you  at  the  lyceum  ;  I  have  paid  enor- 
mous sums  to  have  you  educated  ;  I  apprenticed  you  to 
the  Didots  ;  and  all  this  fine  show  ends  in  3'our  giving 
me  for  a  daughter-in-law  a  girl  from  the  suburbs  without 
a  penny  to  clothe  herself.  If  3'OU  had  never  studied, 
if  you  had  stayed  here  under  m3'  own  eye,  you  'd  have 
beha^^ed  to  please  me,  and  you  'd  marr3'  the  widow  with 
a  hundred  thousand  francs  besides  the  mill.  Ha  !  and 
all  your  cleverness  is  worth  is  to  make  you  believe  I 
shall  reward  3'Our  fine  feelings  b3'  building  a  palace  for 
3-ou !  One  would  suppose,  to  hear  3-ou,  that  none  but 
pigs  had  lived  in  that  house  for  two  hundred  years,  and 
that  your  girl  from  the  suburbs  was  too  fine  to  sleep  in 
it.     Hey,  hey,  the  queen  of  France,  is  she?" 

''Well,  father,  then  I  shall  build  the  second  floor  at 
my  own  cost,  and  it  will  be  the  son  who  enriches  his 
father,"  said  David.  '"  It  seems  to  upset  the  order  of 
things,  but  it  does  happen  sometimes." 


140  Lo8t  Illusions. 

"How's  that,  my  lad?  Do  yon  mean  to  say  that 
you  have  got  the  mone}-  to  build  when  you  can't  pay 
3'our  rent?   You  scamp,  3'ou  are  cheating  your  father." 

The  question  thus  presented  was  difficult  to  answer, 
for  the  good  man  was  delighted  to  get  his  son  into  a 
position  which  enabled  him  to  give  no  help,  and  yet  ap- 
pear fatherl3\  David  got  nothing  out  of  him  except 
his  consent  to  the  marriage  and  permission  to  make  the 
improvements  he  wanted  to  the  house.  The  old  bear, 
a  type  of  the  old-fashioned  fatlier,  made  it  a  favor  not  to 
exact  the  rent,  and  not  to  take  from  his  son  every  penn}- 
he  had  managed  to  la}'  by,  the  existence  of  which  he 
was  foolish  enough  to  let  his  father  know.  The  poor 
fellow  returned  home  sad  enough  ;  he  saw  plainly  that 
if  misfortune  ever  happened  to  him  he  could  not  count 
upon  his  father's  help. 

Society  in  Angouleme  rang  with  the  bishop's  speech 
and  Madame  de  Bargeton's  reply.  The  slightest  events 
in  that  gossiping  world  were  so  distorted,  exaggerated, 
and  embellished  that  the  poet  became  a  hero  for  the 
time  being.  A  few  echoes  from  the  upper  sphere  where 
the  storm  w^s  raging  reached  the  bourgeoisie.  "When 
Lucien  passed  through  Beaulieu,  on  his  way  to  Madame 
de  Bargeton's,  he  could  see  the  envious  observation  with 
which  certain  of  the  3'oung  men  watched  him,  and  he 
overheard  a  few  sentences  which  puffed  him  up  with 
pride. 

"  There  's  a  fortunate  3'Oung  man,"  said  a  lawyer's 
clerk  named  Petit-Claud,  Lucien's  former  schoolmate, 
towards  whom  he  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  a  patron- 
izing air,  and  who  was  very  ugly. 


Lost  Ubisions.  141 

^'Yes,  that's  true,"  said  a  young  sprig  of  famil}' 
who  had  been  present  at  the  reading;  ''he's  a  hand- 
some fellow  and  talented,  and  Madame  de  Bargeton  is 
quite  crazy  about  him." 

"The  handsomest  woman  in  Angouleme  is  his,"  was 
another  speech  which  stirred  his  vanit}'  to  its  depths. 

He  impatiently  awaited  the  hour  when,  as  he  knew, 
he  could  see  Louise  alone.  He  felt  that  he  must  make 
that  woman,  whom  he  now  regarded  as  the  arbiter  of 
his  fate,  accept  Eve's  marriage.  After  what  had  taken 
place  the  evening  before,  Louise,  he  believed,  would  be 
more  tender,  and  her  tenderness  might  lead  to  his  per- 
fect happiness.  He  was  not  mistaken ;  Madame  de 
Bargeton  received  him  with  a  gush  of  feeling  which 
seemed  to  this  novice  in  love  a  touching  proof  of  the 
progress  of  passion.  She  allowed  her  poet,  who  had 
suffered  so  deeply  the  night  before,  to  kiss  her  beautiful 
golden  hair,  her  hands,  her  eyelids. 

"  If  you  could  but  have  seen  your  face  while  j^ou 
were  reading  !  "  she  said  to  him.  "  Sparks  were 
emitted  b}^  those  beautiful  ej'es  !  I  saw  the  golden 
chains  b}'  which  all  hearts  are  hung  to  poet  lips  issuing 
from  that  dear  mouth.  You  will  read  me  the  whole  of 
Chenier,  will  you  not?  he  is  the  poet  of  lovers.  Ah! 
3'ou  shall  suffer  no  more,  I  will  not  let  3'ou  !  Yes,  dear 
angel,  I  am  the  oasis  in  which  you  shall  live  3'our  poet 
life,  —  active,  inert,  indolent,  laborious,  meditative,  — 
all  in  turn.  Never  forget  that  if  j'our  laurels  are  due 
to  me  the}"  are  to  me  the  noblest  indemnit}'  for  the  sorrows 
of  my  life,  past  and  to  come.  Poor  dear!  the  world  will 
not  spare  you  any  more  than  it  has  spared  me  ;  it  takes 
its  revenge  for  the  joys  it  cannot  share.     My  world  is 


142  Lost  Illusions. 

jealous,  it  envies  me  ;  did  3'ou  not  see  that  yesterday? 
Those  flies  thirsting  for  blood  hastened  to  suck  it  from 
the  stings  the^^  gave.  But  I  was  happy,  I  lived  at 
last !  It  is  a  long,  long  time  since  my  heart-strings 
sounded." 

Tears  ran  down  her  cheeks.  Lucien  took  her  hand, 
and  for  all  answer  kissed  it  repeatedl}'.  The  vanit}'  of 
the  poet  was  flattered  and  coaxed  by  this  woman  as  it 
liad  long  been  by  his  mother  and  sister  and  David. 
Every  one  who  came  about  him  assisted  in  heightening 
the  imaginar}^  pedestal  on  which  he  placed  himself. 
Encouraged  in  his  proud  beliefs  b}'  all,  b}'  the  jealousy 
of  enemies  as  much  as  b}^  the  flatter}'  of  friends,  he 
walked  in  an  atmosphere  of  mirage.  Youthful  imagina- 
tions are  so  naturally  influenced  by  praise  and  the  sound 
of  their  own  glorj',  all  things  do  so  concur  and  hasten 
to  serve  a  handsome  3'outh  with  a  future  shining  before 
him,  that  it  takes  more  than  one  cold  and  bitter  lesson 
to  dissipate  such  illusions. 

"  M3'  beautiful  Louise,  you  will  be  my  Beatrice,  — 
but  a  Beatrice  who  will  let  me  love  her?"  he  said, 
passionately'. 

She  raised  her  beautiful  eyes  which  she  had  kept 
lowered  and  said,  contradicting  her  words  with  an 
angeUc  smile,  "If  you  deserve  it — later.  Are  you 
not  happ3'?  To  obtain  a  heart  that  is  all  your  own,  to 
be  able  to  feel  yourself  utterly  understood  —  is  not  that 
happiness?" 

*'  Yes,"  he  answered,  in  the  tone  of  a  baffled  lover. 

*'  Child  !  "  she  said,  laughing  at  him.  ''  Come,  what 
were  you  going  to  tell  me?  you  came  in  quite  absorbed 
about  something,  my  Lucien." 


Lost  Illusions.  143 

.Liicien  timidl}'  confided  to  her  David's  love  for  his 

sister,  that  of  his  sister  lor  David,  and  the  projected 
marriage. 

"Poor  Lucien !  "  she  said;  "did  he  fear  to  be 
whipped  and  scolded  as  though  it  were  he  who  was 
marrying?  Wliat  do  I  care  for  your  family,  to  whom 
you  are  an  exception.  If  m}'  father  married  his  ser- 
vant-woman you  would  not  be  unhappy.  My  dear  child, 
lovers  are  alone,  apart ;  their  families  are  nothing  to 
them.  Have  I  an}'  other  interest  in  the  world  than  my 
Lucien  ?  Become  great ;  win  fame  ;  that  is  your  busi- 
ness —  and  mine." 

Lucien  was  made  the  happiest  man  in  the  world  by 
this  selfish  answer.  Just  as  he  was  listening  to  the 
highflown  reasons  with  which  Louise  was  proving  to 
him  that  the}'  were  alone  together  in  the  world  ^Monsieur 
de  Bargeton  entered.  Lucien  frowned  and  seemed  em- 
barrassed ;  Louise  made  him  a  sign  and  begged  him  to 
sta}'  to  dinner  and  read  Andre  Chenier  to  her  after- 
wards, till  the  usual  guests  and  card-players  arrived. 

"You  will  give  pleasure  not  only  to  Madame  de 
Bargeton  but  to  me,"  said  her  husband.  "  Nothing 
suits  me  better  than  to  hear  reading  after  dinner." 

Flattered  by  Monsieur  de  Bargeton,  cajoled  by  Louise, 
served  by  the  servants  with  the  respect  they  show  to 
those  who  are  in  favor  with  their  masters,  Lucien  re- 
mained at  the  Hotel  de  Bargeton  in  all  the  enjoyment 
of  the  life-interest  of  a  fortune.  By  the  time  the  salon 
became  full  of  guests  he  felt  so  secure  in  the  crass  stu- 
piditj'  of  Monsieur  de  Bargeton  and  in  the  love  of  his 
beautiful  mistress  that  he  assumed  an  all-conquering 
air,  which  Louise  encouraged.     He  tasted  the  delights 


144  Lost  Illusions. 

of  Nais'  own  despotism,  •which  she  made  him  share.  In 
short,  during  this  evening  he  succeeded  in  playing  tlie 
part  of  tlie  hero  of  a  small  town.  Observing  this  new 
attitude  on  Lucien's  part  several  persons  supposed  that 
he  was,  as  the}'  sa}',  on  the  closest  terms  with  the  mis- 
tress of  the  house.  Amelie,  who  had  come  with  Mon- 
sieur du  Chatelet,  corroborated  these  suspicions  in  a 
corner  of  the  salon  where  the  envious  and  the  jealous 
had  congregated. 

"  Pra}'  don't  make  Nais  responsible  for  the  vanity  of 
a  little  young  man  who  is  puffed  up  with  pride  at  find- 
ing himself  in  a  society  he  could  never  have  expected 
to  enter,"  said  du  Chatelet.  "Don't  you  see  how  that 
young  fool  mistakes  the  gracious  speeches  of  a  woman 
of  the  world  for  advances.  He  does  n't  know  how  to 
distinguish  the  silence  which  covers  a  passion  from  the 
encouraging  language  which  his  beaut}',  youth,  and 
talent  have  naturally  won  for  him.  It  would  be  too 
hard  on  women  if  they  were  counted  guilty  of  all  the 
desires  tliey  inspire.  He  is  certainly  in  love,  but  as  for 
Nais  — " 

"Oh,  Nais !  "  said  the  treacherous  Amelie.  *'Nais 
is  dcliglited  with  his  passion.  At  her  age  the  love  of  a 
young  man  is  bewitching !  a  woman  becomes  a  girl 
agnin,  and  puts  on  moral  scruples  and  shy  manners, 
and  nobody  calls  it  ridiculous.  But  just  see  how  the 
son  of  an  apothecary  gives  himself  airs  in  Madame  de 
Bargeton's  house." 

*'  Love  knows  no  distance,"  sang  Adrien. 

The  next  day  there  was  not  a  single  house  in  Angou- 
leme  where  the  question  of  the  exact  amount  of  inti- 
macy between  Monsieur  Chardon,  alias  de  Kubcmprt^, 


Lost  Illusions.  145 

and  Madame  de  Bargeton  was  not  discussed.  Guilty  at 
the  most  of  a  few  kisses,  societ\-  accused  them  ah'eady  of 
criminal  happiness.  Madame  de  Bargeton  paid  the  pen- 
alt}'  of  her  royal  position.  Among  the  oddities  of  social 
life  have  you  never  remarked  the  caprice  of  its  judgments 
and  the  whimsicalitj'  of  its  requirements  ?  There  are  per- 
sons to  whom  societ}' grants  the  utmost  license  ;  the}'  may 
do  the  most  unreasonable  things ;  in  them  everything 
is  considered  becoming,  and  that  is  what  really  justifies 
their  actions.  But  there  are  others  whom  society  com- 
bines to  treat  with  extraordinary  severity ;  they  are 
required  to  do  right  in  everything ;  never  to  be  mis- 
taken, never  to  fail,  never  to  commit  the  smallest  folly; 
one  might  liken  them  to  those  admired  statues  which 
are  taken  from  their  pedestals  and  put  away  in  winter 
lest  the  frost  should  crack  a  finger  or  chip  a  nose  ;  they 
are  not  allowed  to  be  human  ;  they  are  expected  to  be 
perpetually  perfect  and  divine.  A  single  glance  from 
Madame  de  Bargeton  to  Lucien  counted  for  more  than 
a  dozen  years  of  mutual  happiness  between  Zizine  and 
Francis.  A  pressure  of  the  hand  between  the  two 
lovers  was  about,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  to  draw  all 
the  thunderbolts  of  the  department  on  their  heads. 


10 


146  .  Lout  Illusions, 


V. 

CATASTROPHES  OF  PROVINCIAL  LOVE. 

David  had  brought  from  Paris  a  few  savings,  which 
he  now  proposed  to  use  for  the  expenses  of  his  mar- 
riage and  the  costs  of  building  a  second  floor  to  his 
father's  house.  To  enlarge  tliat  house  was  realh',  he 
thought,  to  benefit  himself;  sooner  or  later  the  house 
must  come  to  him,  and  his  father  was  then  over  sixtj'- 
eight  3'ears  of  age.  He  accordingl}'  set  to  w^ork  on  the 
apartment,  building  it  of  wood  so  as  not  to  overweight 
the  present  w^alls  of  the  old  house.  He  took  delight  in 
decorating  and  furnishing  the  rooms  on  the  first  floor, 
where  his  beautiful  Eve  was  to  spend  her  life.  It  was 
a  time  of  mirth  and  happiness  without  alloy  to  the  tw^o 
friends.  Lucien,  though  disgusted  with  the  mean  pro- 
portions of  provincial  life,  and  wear}'  of  the  sordid 
econom}'  which  made  a  five-franc  piece  a  matter  of  im- 
mense importance,  nevertheless  endured  without  one 
complaint  the  close  calculations  of  povert}'  and  its  pri- 
vations. His  gloom}'  melanchol}'  was  changed  into  a 
radiant  expression  of  hope.  He  saw  a  star  glittering 
above  his  head ;  he  dreamed  of  a  noble  existence, 
basing  his  happiness  on  IMonsieur  de  Bargeton's  grave, 
—  that  gentleman  having  at  times  great  difficulty  with 
his  digestion,  and  the  happy  mania  of  considering  that 
an  undigested  dinner  could  be  cured  b}-  a  supper. 


Lost  Illusiims.  147 

■  About  the  beginning  of  September  Liicien  ceased  to 
be  David's  foreman  ;  he  was  Monsieur  de  Rubeinpre, 
lodged  magnificently  in  comparison  with  the  wretched 
garret  in  which  "that  little  Chardon"  had  lived  at 
rHoumeau.  He  was  a  man  of  the  suburbs  no  longer ; 
he  lived  in  the  upper  part  of  Angouleme  and  dined 
three  or  four  times  a  week  with  Madame  de  Bargeton. 
The  bishop  had  taken  a  fancy  to  him,  and  he  was  often 
invited  to  the  palace.  His  occupations  now  classed 
him  among  personages  of  the  upper  sphere  ;  in  short, 
he  was  considered  in  a  fair  way  to  take  his  place  among 
the  distinguished  men  of  France.  Certainl}',  as  he 
walked  about  his  pretty  salon  and  charming  bedroom 
and  study,  arranged  with  so  much  taste,  he  might  com- 
fort himself  for  drawing  thirty  francs  a  month  from  the 
hard-earned  wages  of  his  mother  and  sister ;  for  he  now 
saw  every  prospect  that  the  historical  romance  at  which 
he  had  been  working  for  two  years  ("  The  Archer  of 
Charles  IX.'-)  and  a  volume  of  poetr}'  (entitled  "  Dai- 
sies") would  spread  his  name  through  the  literary  world 
and  bring  him  sutficient  money  to  pay  back  his  indebted- 
ness to  his  mother  and  sister  and  David.  So,  finding 
himself  actualh^  elevated,  and  listening  lor  the  echo  of 
his  name  in  the  future,  he  accepted  all  their  present  sac- 
rifices with  superb  confidence  ;  he  smiled  at  his  straits, 
and  even  enjoyed  these  last  throes  of  poverty. 

Eve  and  David  had  made  their  brother's  happiness 
take  precedence  of  theirs.  Their  marriage  was  dela^-ed 
by  the  time  the  workmen  took  to  finish  the  second  floor  ; 
in  ever}^  respect  Lucien's  affairs  were  their  first  con- 
sideration. Any  one  who  knew  Lucien  would  not  have 
been  surprised  at  this  devotion  ;  he  was  so  fascinating, 


148  Lost  Illusions. 

his  manners  were  so  winning,  he  expressed  his  de- 
sires so  charmingl}^  that  he  won  his  cause  before  he 
even  spoke  of  it.  This  fatal  gift  has  been  the  ruin  of 
more  young  men  than  it  ever  benefited.  Accustomed 
to  the  consideration  their  sweet  30uth  wins,  relying  on 
the  protection  which  societ^^  selfishly  grants  to  those  who 
please  it,  just  as  it  gives  alms  to  a  beggar  who  awakens 
a  sentiment,  many  of  these  children  of  a  larger  growth 
enjoj^  their  privilege  and  gain  no  advantage  from  it. 
Deceived  as  to  the  real  meaning  and  value  of  these 
social  relations,  the}^  fancy  that  the  same  smiles  will 
follow  them  through  life  ;  and  they  find  themselves  bare, 
bald,  ragged,  without  worth  or  fortune,  when,  like  old 
coquettes  and  worn-out  clothes,  society  leaves  them  in 
the  lurch  at  the  door  of  a  salon  or  consigns  them  to  the 
dust-hole.  Eve  had  advocated  the  dela}',  parti}'  be- 
cause she  wanted  to  prepare  as  economicallj^  as  she 
could  the  supplies  necessar}'  for  the  young  household. 
What  could  two  lovers  refuse  to  a  brother  who,  seeing 
his  sister  hard  at  work  would  sa}-,  in  accents  that  came 
from  his  heart :  "  Would  that  I  could  sew !  "  The 
grave,  observing  David  was  a  sharer  in  this  devotion. 
Nevertheless,  ever  since  Lucien's  success  with  Ma- 
dame de  Bargeton  he  was  uneasy  at  the  transformation 
which  was  taking  place  in  the  poet ;  he  saw  that  he 
was  in  danger  of  despising  a  middle-class  life.  Wish- 
ing to  test  him,  David  would  occasionally  contrive  to 
put  him  between  the  famil}'  joys  of  home  and  the  plea- 
sures of  the  great  world,  and  when  it  happened  that  Lii- 
cien  sacrificed  the  enjoyments  of  his  vanit}'  David  would 
cry  out  joyfully :  "  There,  they  have  not  corrupted 
him  ! "     Several  times  the  three  friends  and  Madame 


Lost  IIhisio7is.  149 

.Chardon  made  pleasure  excursions,  as  the}'  do  in  the 
provinces  ;  the}'  went  to  walk  in  the  woods  which  sur- 
round Angouleme  and  border  the  Charente  ;  they  dined 
on  the  grass  with  provisions  which  David's  apprentice 
brought  to  a  certain  place  at  a  certain  hour ;  they  came 
home  at  night,  a  little  weary  perhaps,  and  having  spent 
but  three  francs.  On  great  occasions  when  they  dined 
at  what  was  called  a  '-restaurat"  (a  sort  of  country 
restaurant  between  the  tavern  of  the  provinces  and  the 
''  guinguette,"  of  Paris)  they  went  to  the  extravagance 
of  five  francs,  equally  divided  between  David  and  the 
Chardons.  David  was  infinitely  grateful  to  Lucien  for 
forgetting  during  these  country  holidays  the  gratifications 
he  had  at  Madame  de  Bargeton's  and  the  sumptuous 
dinners  he  enjoyed  in  her  world ;  for  by  this  time  every 
one  was  inviting  the  gi'eat  man  of  Angouleme. 

It  was  at  this  conjunction  of  aff'airs,  when  almost 
nothing  was  wanting  to  the  establishment  of  the  new 
household,  and  while  Da\id  had  gone  to  Marsac  to  in- 
vite his  father  to  the  wedding,  hoping  that  when  the 
old  man  saw  his  daughter-in-law  he  would  contribute 
to  the  cost  of  arranging  the  house,  that  an  event  oc- 
curred which,  as  it  happened  in  a  small  town,  com- 
pletely changed  the  face  of  things. 

Lucien  and  Louise  had  a  close  spy  in  du  Chatelet, 
who  watched  with  the  persistence  of  hatred  mingled 
with  passion  and  avarice  for  an  occasion  to  expose  them. 
Sixte  wanted  to  make  Madame  de  Bai-geton  commit  her- 
self. He  took  the  part  of  her  humble  confidant ;  but 
though  he  pretended  to  be  Lucien's  friend  in  her  pre- 
sence, he  undermined  him  elsewhere.  He  obtained 
familiar  entrance   to   Xais'  house,   for   she  no  longer 


150  Lost  Illusions. 

distrusted  her  old  admirer.  But  du  Chatelet  expected 
too  much  of  the  lovers,  who  continued  to  be  strictly 
Platonic.  There  are,  in  fact,  passions  which  start  out 
well  or  ill,  as  it  happens.  Two  persons  plunge  into 
sentimental  tactics  and  talk  instead  of  acting,  and  ma- 
ncBuvre  in  the  open  without  ever  coming  to  a  siege.  The}' 
contrive  to  surfeit  both  themselves  and  their  desires  with 
nothingness.  Before  long  the}'  reflect,  and  they  judge. 
Often  passions  which  have  taken  the  field  bravely  ac- 
coutred, flags  flying,  and  ardent  for  conquest,  end  by 
coming  back  without  a  victory,  disarmed,  ashamed,  and 
altogether  foolish  at  so  much  vain  displa}*.  These  mis- 
haps are  sometimes  caused  b}'  the  timidit}'  of  3'outh,  and 
by  the  temporizations  indulged  in  b}'  women  in  their 
first  love  affairs  ;  for  such  deceptions  are  never  practised 
b}^  either  coxcombs  who  know  the  business  or  co- 
quettes accustomed  to  the  manoeuvres  of  allurement. 

Provincial  life  is  singularly'  antagonistic  to  the  con- 
tentments of  love,  but  it  favors  the  intellectual  dis- 
cussion of  passion  ;  moreover,  the  obstacles  which  it 
opposes  to  the  tender  intercourse  of  lovers  are  liable  to 
drive  ardent  souls  into  extremes.  The  life  is  based  on 
such  minute  and  constant  observation  and  such  abso- 
lute transparency  in  all  private  affairs,  it  allows  so  little 
consoling  intimacy-  without  its  virtue  making  an  outer}', 
the  purest  relations  are  so  unreasonably  criticised  that 
many  women  are  held  in  provincial  circles  to  be  guilty 
who  are  really  innocent.  Some  of  them  then  regret  that 
they  never  enjoyed  the  pleasures  of  a  wrong  the  penalties 
of  which  are  [)ut  ui)on  them.  Society,  which  blames  or 
criticises  witiiont  s^tIous  examination  the  facts  which 
end  a  long  and  secret  struggle,  is  often  the  original 


Lost  Illusions.  151 

cause  of  the  crime ;  but  most  persons  who  declaim 
against  the  so-called  scandals  provoked  b}'  women  un- 
justly calumniated  never  think  what  the  actual  cause  of 
their  final  determination  may  have  been.  Madame  de 
Bargeton  was  about  to  find  herself  in  the  singular  posi- 
tion of  such  women,  who  are  not  lost  until  after  society 
has  unjustly  accused  them.  The  obstacles  that  are  met 
with  at  the  beginning  of  a  passion  alarm  inexperienced 
persons  ;  and  those  that  our  present  lovers  encountered 
were  very  like  the  threads  with  which  the  Lilliputians 
shackled  Gulliver.  A  multiplicity  of  nothings  made  all 
movement  impossible  and  checked  all  violent  desires. 
Madame  de  Bargeton,  for  instance,  was  always  visible. 
If  she  had  simph*  closed  her  doors  at  the  hours  when 
Lucien  was  with  her  she  might  as  well  have  fled  with 
him  at  once.  It  is  true  that  she  received  him  in  a 
boudoir,  to  which  he  was  now  so  used  that  he  thought 
himself  its  master,  but  the  doors  were  scrupulously  left 
open.  All  was  virtuous  to  the  last  degree.  Monsieur 
de  Bargeton  roamed  about  the  rooms  hke  a  beetle, 
without  the  least  idea  that  his  wife  would  prefer  to  be 
alone  with  Lucien.  If  he  had  been  the  only  obstacle 
Nais  could  easily  have  sent  him  away  or  otherwise  occu- 
pied him  ;  but  she  was  always  overwhelmed  with  visi- 
tors, and  thej'  swarmed  all  the  more  now  that  their 
curiosit}'  was  awakened.  Provincials  are  naturally  fond 
of  teasing ;  the}-  like  to  annoy  a  dawning  emotion. 
The  servants  went  and  came  about  the  house  without 
being  summoned,  a  habit  acquired  at  a  time  when  their 
mistress  had  nothing  to  conceal.  To  change  the  habits 
of  her  household  would  be  to  admit  a  passion  of  which 
Angouleme  was  still  in  doubt.     Madame  de  Bargeton 


152  Lost  Illusions. 

could  not  set  foot  outside  her  own  door  without  the  whole 
town  knowing  where  she  went.  To  walk  alone  with 
Lucien  in  the  environs  would  have  been  a  decisive  mea- 
sure ;  on  the  whole  it  was  less  dangerous  to  shut  herself 
up  with  him  at  home.  If  Lucien  had  stayed  one  mo- 
ment after  midnight  in  the  salon  without  other  company 
all  Angouleme  w^ould  have  chattered  of  it  the  next  day. 
Therefore,  within  and  without  her  own  doors  Madame 
de  Bargeton  lived  in  public.  These  details  are  repre- 
sentative of  provincial  life ;  sins  are  either  known  or 
impossible. 

Louise,  like  other  women,  led  awa}^  b}'  a  passion 
without  experience  of  such  matters,  saw  one  hy  one  the 
difficulties  of  her  position,  and  was  frightened  b}'  them. 
Her  alarm  reacted  on  the  amorous  discussions  which 
occupied  the  few  delightful  hours  when  she  and  Lucien 
were  alone.  Madame  de  Bargeton  had  no  country- 
house  to  which  she  could  carr}'  her  beloved  poet,  as 
man}'  women,  under  various  clever  pretexts,  huvy  them- 
selves for  a  time.  Tired  of  living  in  public,  driven  to 
extremities  In-  the  t3'ranny  of  societ}',  the  3'oke  of  which 
was  harder  than  her  love  was  sweet,  she  bethought  her- 
self of  Escarbas,  and  was  meditating  a  visit  to  her  old 
father,  so  irritated  was  she  b}'  the  many  annoyances  in 
her  way. 

Chatelet  did  not  believe  in  so  much  innocence.  He 
discovered  the  hours  at  which  Lucien  went  to  the  house, 
and  would  follow  in  a  few  minutes,  usually  accompanied 
by  Monsieur  de  Chandour,  the  most  indiscreet  man  of 
the  coterie,  whom  he  would  send  into  tiie  room  before 
him,  hoping  that  his  eyes  would  see  and  his  tongue 
report  some  questionable  situation.     His  own  role  was 


Lout  lUuiiions.  153 

thp  more  difficult,  because  he  wished  to  remain  neuter 
and  make  others  phw  the  drama.  In  order  to  hood- 
wink Lucien,  whom  he  flattered,  and  Madame  de  Barge- 
ton,  who  did  not  hack  perception,  he  attached  himself 
apparently  to  the  jealous  Amelie.  The  better  to  spy  on 
Louise  and  Lucien  he  set  up  an  argument  with  Mon- 
sieur de  Chandour  on  the  nature  of  tlieir  relations. 
Du  Chatelet  insisted  that  Madame  de  Bargeton  was 
merely  amusing  herself;  that  she  was  much  too  proud 
and  too  well-born  to  condescend  to  the  son  of  a  chemist. 
This  show  of  incredulity  belonged  to  his  part,  which 
was  that  of  a  defender.  Stanislas,  on  the  other  hand, 
maintained  that  Lucien  was  a  successful  lover.  Amelie 
spurred  on  the  discussion  because  she  reall}-  wanted  to 
know  the  truth.  Each  side  gave  his  reasons.  As  often 
happens  in  little  towns,  the  intimates  of  the  house  of 
Chandour  would  break  in  upon  these  conversations. 
The  adversaries  would  then  seek  partisans,  asking  opin- 
ions of  the  new-comers.  Thus  Madame  de  Bargeton  and 
Lucien  were  constantly  before  the  minds  of  the  coterie. 
One  day  du  Chatelet  made  the  remark  that  whenever 
he  and  Monsieur  de  Chandour  called  on  Madame  de 
Bargeton  and  found  Lucien  there  there  was  nothing  at 
all  suspicious  in  their  conduct  to  each  other ;  the  door 
of  the  room  was  always  open,  the  servants  were  going 
and  coming,  there  was  nothing  that  mysteriously  inti- 
mated the  charming  crime  of  love.  Stanislas,  who  was 
not  without  a  certain  quantum  of  stupidit}',  fell  into  the 
trap,  and  resolved  to  enter  the  next  da}'  on  the  points 
of  his  toes,  and  Amelie  encouraged  him. 

The  next  day  Lucien  happened  to  be  in  one  of  those 
moods  when  vouns:  men  tear  their  hair  and  swear  to 


154  Lost  Illusions. 

themselves  that  thej^  will  not  continue  any  longer  in 
the  mortifying  position  of  a  supplicant.  B3'  this  time 
he  had  grown  used  to  his  privileges.  The  poet  who 
had  timidly  taken  a  chair  in  the  sacred  boudoir  of  the 
queen  of  Angouleme  was  now  metamorphosed  into  an 
exacting  lover.  It  had  taken  six  months  to  make  him 
feel  himself  her  equal ;  he  was  now  determined  to  be 
her  master.  Accordingly  he  left  home,  resolved  to  be 
perfectl}^  unreasonable,  even  to  the  point  of  risking 
his  future  ;  he  meant  to  employ  all  the  resources  of  in- 
flammatory eloquence  ;  to  say  that  his  mind  was  leaving 
him,  that  he  was  growing  incapable  of  thinking  a 
thought  or  writing  a  verse.  Some  women  have  a  horror 
of  doing  anything  deliberately  which  does  honor  to 
their  delicacy ;  they  ma}'  yield  to  sudden  temptation, 
but  not  to  agreement.  As  a  general  thing,  no  one  likes 
a  regulated  pleasure.  Madame  de  Bargeton  noticed  on 
Lucien's  brow,  in  his  eyes,  in  his  whole  countenance, 
and  in  his  manners,  the  excited  air  which  betrays  the 
formation  of  a  resolution  ;  and  she  resolved,  parth'  in  a 
spirit  of  contradiction,  and  parti}'  out  of  a  really  noble 
sense  of  love,  to  baffle  him.  Exaggerating  everything 
as  she  did,  she  exaggerated  the  value  of  her  own  favors. 
To  her  eyes,  Madame  de  Bargeton  was  a  sovereign,  a 
Beatrice,  a  Laura.  She  took  her  seat,  as  in  the  middle- 
ages,  under  the  dais  of  a  literar}'  tournament,  and  Lu- 
cien  was  only  to  win  her  after  multiplied  victories  ;  he 
was  to  emulate  and  excel  "  I'enfant  sublime,''  Lamar- 
tine,  Walter  Scott,  Byron.  As  a  noble  woman,  she 
considered  her  love  a  vital  principle  ;  the  desires  with 
whicii  she  inspired"  Lucien  were  to  be  the  incentive  which 
should  lead  him  to  fame.     This  female  Don  (Quixotism 


Lost  Illusions.  155 

is  a  sentiment  which  gives  to  love  its  consecration  ;  it 
utilizes,  it  magnifies,  it  honors  it.  Firmly  resolved  to 
play  the  part  of  Dulcinea  to  Lucien's  life  for  half  a 
dozen  years  or  more,  Madame  de  Bargeton  wished,  like 
a  good  many  other  provincial  women,  to  subject  her 
lover  to  a  species  of  servitude,  during  which  time  she 
could  judge  of  his  constancy. 

When  Lucien  had  opened  the  battle  by  one  of  those 
sulky  exhibitions  of  temper  at  which  a  woman  who  is 
still  free  laughs,  and  none  but  those  who  are  deeply  in 
love  are  grieved,  Louise  assumed  an  air  of  dignit\'  and 
began  one  of  her  long  speeches,  larded  with  pompous 
words. 

"Is  this  what  yon  have  promised  me,  Lucien?" 
she  said,  in  conclusion.  "  Do  not  put  into  so  sweet  a 
present  a  remorse  which  would  poison  m}'  future  life. 
Do  not  spoil  that  future.  And — I  sa}-  it  with  pride  — 
do  not  spoil  the  present.  Have  you  not  my  heart? 
What  else  do  you  need?  Can  it  be  that  your  love  is 
influenced  b}'  the  senses,  when  the  noblest  privilege  of 
a  beloved  woman  is  to  silence  them?  For  whom  do 
3-ou  take  me?  Am  I  no  longer  3'our  Beatrice?  If  I 
am  not  more  to  you  than  a  mere  woman,  then  I  am  less 
than  one." 

"You  could  not  say  anything  else  to  a  man  whom 
you  did  not  love,"  cried  Lucien,  angrih'. 

"If  3'ou  do  not  feel  how  much  of  deep,  true  love 
there  is  in  m}^  ideas,  you  are  not  worthy  of  me,"  she 
replied. 

"  You  pretend  to  doubt  my  love  to  avoid  replying  to 
me,"  said  Lucien,  flinging  himself  at  her  feet  in  tears. 

The  poor  lad  really  wept  at  seeing  himself  outside 


156  Lost  Illusions. 

the  gates  of  Paradise.  They  were  the  tears  of  a  poet 
who  feels  his  power  humiliated,  the  tears  of  a  child  to 
whom  the  to}"  it  longs  for  is  refused. 

"  You  have  never  loved  me  !  "  he  cried. 

"You  do  not  beheve  what  you  say,"  she  replied, 
flattered  b}'  his  violence. 

"  Then  prove  to  me  that  you  are  mine,"  said  Lucien, 
beside  himself 

Just  then  Stanislas  arrived  without  being  heard,  saw 
Lucien  half-kneeling,  half-lying,  the  tears  in  his  ej'es, 
and  his  head  on  Nais'  knees.  The  tableau  was  satis- 
factory and  sufficientl}^  suspicious ;  Stanislas  turned 
hastily  back  to  du  Chatelet,  who  stood  at  the  door. 
Madame  de  Bargeton  sprang  forward,  but  not  in  time 
to  reach  the  spies,  who  retired  precipitatel}',  as  if 
ashamed  of  their  indiscretion. 

"  Who  came  in  just  now?  "  she  called  to  the  servants. 

"  Monsieur  de  Chandour  and  Monsieur  du  Chatelet," 
said  Gentil,  her  old  footman. 

She  returned  to  the  boudoir,  pale  and  trembling. 

"  If  the}'  saw  3'ou  as  you  were  I  am  lost,"  she  said 
to  Lucien. 

"  So  much  the  better  !  "  cried  the  poet. 

Louise  smiled  at  this  selfish  exhibition  of  his  love. 

In  the  provinces,  such  an  adventure  is  certain  to  be 
magnified  in  the  telling.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye 
ever}'  one  knew  that  Lucien  had  been  caught  at  Nais' 
knees.  Monsieur  de  Chandour,  delighted  with  the  im- 
portance such  an  affair  was  sure  to  give  him,  went  first 
to  the  club  with  the  great  news  and  then  on  a  round  of 
visits.  Du  Chatelet  hastened  to  say  that,  for  his  part, 
he  had  seen  nothing ;  but  by  putting  himself  thus  aside 


Lost  Illusions.  157 

he  -onl}'  incited  Stanislas  to  talk  the  more,  and  to  en- 
large on  details,  adding  something  new  at  each  relation. 
l\\  the  evening  the  whole  social  world  of  Angoiileine 
tlocked  to  Amc'lie's  salon ;  for  by  that  time  the  most 
exaggerated  versions  were  circulating  through  the  aristo- 
cratic portion  of  the  town,  where  each  narrator  had  fol- 
lowed the  example  of  Stanislas.  Men  and  women  were 
impatient  to  know  the  truth.  The  women  who  veiled 
their  faces  and  cried  shame  were  preciseh*  Amelie, 
Zephirine,  Fifine,  and  Lolotte,  who  were  themselves 
more  or  less  smirched  with  illicit  loves.  The  theme 
was  varied  in  man}-  keys. 

''  Well,"  said  one,  '•  that  poor  Nais,  you  have  heard 
about  it?  For  m\'  part,  I  don't  believe  the  story  ;  she 
has  an  irreproachable  life  before  her ;  she  is  much  too 
proud  to  be  anything  but  Monsieur  Chardon's  patron- 
ess. But  if  it  is  really  true,  I  do  pity  her  with  all  my 
heart.'' 

"  She  is  all  the  more  to  be  pitied,"  said  another, 
"because  the  thing  is  so  frightfully  ridiculous;  she 
might  be  Monsieur  Chardon's  mother ;  he  can't  be 
more  than  twenty-two,  and  Xais,  between  ourselves, 
is  n't  a  day  less  than  fort}'." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  du  Chatelet.  "  I  think  the  ver}' 
situation  in  which  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  was  seen 
proves  Nais'  innocence.  We  don't  go  down  on  our 
knees  to  get  that  we  have  alread}^  had." 

'•  That's  as  it  may  be  !  "  said  Francis,  with  a  frisky 
look,  which  earned  him  a  reproving  glance  from 
Zephirine. 

••But  tell  us  all  about  it,"  they  said  to  Stanislas, 
forminsf  a  conclave  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 


158  Lost  Illusions. 

Stanislas  had  ended  b}-  composing  a  little  tale  full  of 
improprieties  accompanied  by  gestures  and  attitudes 
which  fatally  incriminated  the  pair. 

"  It  is  inconceivable  !  *'  said  one. 

"  At  twelve  o'clock  in  the  day  !  "  said  another. 

"  Nais  was  the  last  woman  I  should  have  suspected." 

"  What  will  she  do  now?  " 

Then  followed  commentaries  and  suppositions  with- 
out number.  Du  Chatelet  defended  Madame  de  Barge- 
ton,  but  so  clumsily  that  he  fanned  the  fire  of  gossip 
instead  of  extinguishing  it.  Lili,  full  of  pious  grief  at 
the  fall  of  the  Angouleme  angel,  went  in  tears  to  re- 
port the  affair  to  the  bishop.  When  the  whole  town 
was  undeniably  in  an  uproar,  the  successful  du  Chate- 
let went  to  the  Bargetons'  and  found  onty  one  table  of 
whist.  He  asked  Nais,  diplomatically,  if  she  would  not 
rather  sit  in  the  boudoir,  where,  accordingl}',  the}'  took 
possession  of  the  sofa. 

"  Of  course  you  know,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  what 
all  Angouleme  is  talking  of  ?  " 

''No,  I  do  not,"  she  said. 

"Well,  then,"  he  rejoined,  "I  am  too  much  your 
friend  to  leave  j'ou  in  ignorance.  I  must  give  you  an 
opportunity  to  den}^  these  calumnies,  invented,  no  doubt, 
by  Amelie,  who  has  the  presumption  to  consider  her- 
self your  rival.  1  came  to  see  you  this  morning  with 
that  ape  Stanislas,  who  was  a  few  feet  in  front  of  me 
when  he  reached  the  door,"  pointing  to  that  of  the  bou- 
doir ;  "  and  he  insists  that  he  saic  you  with  INIonsieur  de 
Rubempre  in  a  situation  which  prevented  his  entering 
the  room.  He  turned  back  to  me  quite  alarmed  and 
dragged    me  away,  without   giving   me  time  to  think. 


Lost  Illusions.  159 

We  had  reached  Bcaulieii  before  he  told  me  the  reason 
of  his  hast}'  retreat.  If  I  had  known  it  in  time  I  should 
not  have  left  the  house,  and  the  matter  could  have  been 
cleared  up  on  the  spot;  but  to  come  back  later  would 
have  proved  nothing  in  your  defence.  Now,  whether 
Stanislas  saw  wrong,  or  whether  he  is  right,  is  not  the 
question ;  he  must  be  put  in  the  wrong.  Dear  Nais, 
don't  let  your  life,  your  future,  your  honor  be  at  that 
fool's  merc\\  Silence  him  instantly.  You  know  my 
situation  here.  Though  I  need  the  support  of  ever}- 
body,  I  am  solelj'  yours.  Dispose  of  a  life  which  be- 
longs to  you.  Though  you  have  repulsed  m}'  wishes 
my  heart  is  ever  3'ours  ;  and  on  all  occasions  I  only 
seek  to  prove  to  you  how  I  love  you.  Yes,  I  watch  over 
3-ou  like  a  faithful  servant,  without  hope  of  recompense, 
solely  for  the  pleasure  I  find  in  serving  3'ou,  even  with- 
out your  knowing  it.  This  morning  I  have  said  ever\'- 
where  that  I,  too,  was  at  the  door  of  3'our  salon  and 
saw  nothing.  If  an3'  one  asks  3'ou  who  told  3'ou  of  this 
gossip,  make  use  of  my  name.  I  shall  be  onl3'  too 
proud  to  be  your  public  defender,  but,  between  our- 
selves, Monsieur  de  Bargeton  is  the  onl3'  man  who 
ought  to  demand  an  explanation  from  Stanislas.  That 
little  Rubempre  ma3'  have  committed  some  foll3',  but  if 
so  the  honor  of  a  w^oman  ought  not  to  be  at  the  merc3' 
of  any  heedless  young  fellow  who  flings  himself  at  her 
knees." 

Nais  thanked  du  Chatelet  with  an  inclination  of  her 
head,  but  was  silent  and  pensive.  She  was  wearv  and 
disgusted  with  provincial  life.  At  du  Chatelet's  first 
words  her  thoughts  turned  to  Paris.  The  silence  be- 
came embarrassing  to  her  wilv  adorer. 


160  Lost  Illusions. 

*'  Dispose  of  me  as  3'ou  will,  — I  repeat  it,"  he  said. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  answered. 

'^AVhat  shall  you  do?" 

"I  will  think  about  it." 

Long  silence. 

"  Do  you  reall}'  love  that  little  Rubempre  ?  " 

She  smiled  a  superb  smile,  crossed  her  arms  and 
looked  at  the  curtains  of  her  boudoir.  Du  Chatelet 
took  his  leave  without  being  able  to  decipher  the  heart 
of  the  haught}'  woman.  When  Lucien  and  the  four  old 
gentlemen  who  had  come  to  play  their  whist,  regardless 
of  the  problematic  gossip,  had  departed,  ]Madame  de 
Bargeton  stopped  her  husband  as  he  bade  her  good- 
night before  going  to  bed. 

"  Come  here,  m}-  dear,  I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  she 
said,  with  a  sort  of  solemnity. 

Monsieur  de  Bargeton  followed  his  wife  into  the 
boudoir. 

''Perhaps  I  am  wrong,"  she  said,  ''to  liave  put 
such  warmth  into  m^'  protection  of  Monsieur  de  Ru- 
bempre, for  it  has  been  as  ill-understood  b}'  the  foolish 
people  of  this  town  as  b}'  Lucien  himself.  This  morn- 
ing he  flung  himself  at  m}'  feet  and  made  me  a  declara- 
tion of  love.  Stanislas  came  in  at  the  moment  when  I 
was  raising  the  foolish  lad.  Disregarding  the  dutN'  of 
courtesy  which  a  gentleman  owes  to  a  woman  under  all 
circumstances,  he  declares  that  he  found  me  in  an 
equivocal  situation  with  that  young  man,  whom  I  was 
really  treating  as  he  deserved.  If  the  rash  youth  were 
to  hear  the  cnhunnies  to  Avhich  his  folly  has  given  rise, 
he  would,  I  am  convinced,  insult  Stanislas  and  force 
him  to  light  a  duel.      Such  mu  action  would  be  a  public 


Lost  Ilhmons.  161 

avowal  of  his  love.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  your  wife  is 
pure ;  but  you  can  easih*  see  there  would  be  something 
ver}^  dishonoring  both  for  you  and  for  me  in  Monsieur 
de  Riibempre  undertalving  to  defend  me.  Go  yourself  to 
Stanislas  and  ask  him  seriously  for  an  explanation  of 
the  insulting  things  lie  has  said  about  me ;  and  do  not 
let  the  affair  be  smoothed  over  until  he  retracts  wjiat 
he  has  said  in  presence  of  numerous  and  important  wit- 
nesses. You  will  thus  obtain  for  yourself  and  for  me 
the  respect  of  all  decent  people  ;  you  will  behave  like  a 
man  of  intelligence  and  a  gallant  man  ;  you  will  have 
every  right  to  my  esteem.  I  will  send  Geutil  on  horse- 
back to  TEscarbas  and  summon  m\'  father,  who  must  be 
3'our  second.  Xotwithstanding  his  age,  I  know  him  to 
be  a  man  who  would  trample  under  foot  the  puppet  who 
dares  to  blacken  my  reputation.  You  will  have  the 
choice  of  arms ;  take  pistols,  for  I  am  told  you  are  an 
excellent  shot." 

'' I  will  go,"  said  Monsieur  de  Bargeton,  taking  his 
hat  and  cane. 

'•Ah,  my  friend,"  said  his  wife,  much  moved,  "  vou 
are  what  men  should  be,  what  I  love  in  a  man,  — you 
are  a  gentleman." 

She  offered  him  her  brow,  and  the  old  man  kissed  it, 
proud  of  the  privilege.  This  woman,  who  felt  a  sort  of 
maternal  sentiment  for  that  grown  child,  could  not  re- 
press her  tears  as  she  heard  the  2^'^^'^^-coche)-e  close 
behind  him. 

"How  he  loves  me  I  "  she  said.  "The  poor  man 
clings  to  life,  and  yet  he  would  lose  it  without  regret 
for  my  sake." 

Monsieur  de  Bargeton  did  not  trouble  himself  about 
11 


162  Lost  Illusions. 

meeting  his  adversaiy  on  the  morrow  and  coldl}'  facing 
the  muzzle  of  a  pistol ;  no,  he  was  harassed  by  only 
one  thing  ;  he  trembled  as  he  went  his  wa^'  to  Monsieur 
de  Chandour  at  the  thought,  "  What  shall  I  say  to  him? 
Nais  ought  to  have  told  me  what  to  say  :  "  and  he  puz- 
zled his  brains  to  construct  a  speech  which  should  not 
be  ridiculous. 

But  those  who  live,  like  Monsieur  de  Bargeton,  in  a 
silence  imposed  b}'  the  narrowness  of  their  minds  and 
their  want  of  outlook,  do  possess  in  the  great  crises  of 
life  a  solenniity  made  to  hand.  Speaking  seldom,  they 
seldom  say  foolish  things  ;  reflecting  much  on  what 
the}'  ought  to  saj',  their  extreme  self-distrust  leads 
them  to  study  their  words  so  carefully  that  the}'  often 
express  themselves  as  aptl}'  as  Balaam's  ass.  Mon- 
sieur de  Bargeton  now  behaved  himself  like  a  ver}- 
superior  man.  He  justified  the  opinion  of  those  who 
regarded  him  as  a  philosopher  of  the  school  of  Pythag- 
oras. He  went  to  see  Stanislas  at  eleven  o'clock  that 
night,  and  found  a  large  party  assembled  at  his  house. 
He  bowed  silentl}'  to  Amelie,  and  bestowed  on  the  rest 
of  the  company,  his  vacant  smile,  which,  under  exist- 
ing circumstances,  seemed  to  them  profoundly  ironical. 
Then  came  a  hushed  silence,  as  in  nature  before  a 
storm.  Chatelet,  who  had  gone  there  after  leaving 
Nais,  looked  significantly  from  Monsieur  de  Bargeton 
to  Stanislas,  whom  the  offended  husband  treated  in  the 
first  instance  politelj'. 

Du  Chatelet  fully  understood  the  meaning  of  a  visit 
made  at  an  hour  when  the  old  man  was  usually  in  bed. 
Nais  was  evidently  moving  that  feeble  arm  ;  and  as  du 
Chatelct's  position  in  the  Chandour  household  gave  him 


Lost  Illusions.  163 

n  \'vy\\t  to  meddle  in  its  affairs  he  rose,  took  Monsieur 
de  Bargeton  aside,  and  said,  ''  Do  you  wisb  to  speak  to 
Stanislas?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  worth)-  man,  glad  of  an  interme- 
diary who  would  perhaps  do  the  talking  for  him. 

*' Well,  then,  go  into  Amelie's  bedroom,  and  I  will 
send  him  to  you,"  said  du  Chalelet,  excited  at  the 
prospect  of  a  duel,  which  might  make  Maxlame  do 
Bargeton  a  widow,  and  prevent  her  from  marrying 
Lucien,  the  cause  of  it. 

"Stanislas,"  he  said  to  de  Chandour,  "Bargeton 
has  no  doubt  come  here  to  ask  you  to  give  him  satis- 
faction for  the  things  you  have  been  saying  about  Nais. 
Come  into  your  wife's  room  and  behave,  both  of  you, 
like  gentlemen.  Don't  have  an}-  loud  talking,  affect 
politeness,  — in  short,  assume  the  coldness  of  Britannic 
dignity." 

Stanislas  and  du  Chatelet  went  together  into  the  room. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  offended  husband,  ''if  you  do 
not  retract  your  offensive  speeches  in  presence  of  the 
compan}-  now  assembled  in  your  house  I  shall  request 
3'ou  to  choose  your  second.  M}'  father-in-law.  Mon- 
sieur de  Negrepelisse,  will  call  npon  you  to-morrow 
morning.  The  affair  can  only  be  settled  in  the  manner 
I  have  just  indicated.  I  am  the  offended  party,  and  I 
choose  pistols." 

On  his  way  thither  Monsieur  de  Bargeton  had  rumi- 
nated over  this  speech,  the  longest  he  had  ever  made 
in  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  and  he  made  it  without 
passion  and  in  the  simplest  manner.  Stanislas  turned 
pale,  and  thought  to  himself,  "What  did  I  see,  after 
all?"     But  between  the  shame  of  den  vine:  his  words 


164  Lost  Illusions. 

before  all  the  world  in  presence  of  this  dumb  man  ulio 
could  not  See  a  joke,  and  fear,  the  hideous  fear  which 
took  him  by  the  throat  with  scorching  hands,  he  chose 
the  danger  which  seemed  at  the  moment  farthest  off. 

'*  Ver}' good,"  he  said.  "To-morrow  we  will  settle 
it,"  hoping  in  this  wa}-  that  something  might  turn  up  to 
arrange  matters  peacefull3% 

The  three  men  returned  to  the  salon,  wliere  the  whole 
compan}^  studied  their  faces  ;  du  Chatelet  smiled,  Mon- 
sieur de  Bargeton  was  absoluteh'  the  same  as  usual, 
but  Stanislas  had  turned  hvid.  Seeing  this,  several 
women  guessed  the  upshot  of  the  conference.  The 
words  "  The}' will  fight !  "  ran  from  ear  to  ear.  Half 
the  company  thought  Stanislas  to  blame,  his  pallor  and 
the  discomposure  of  his  face  seemed  indicative  of  false- 
hood ;  the  other  half  admired  Monsieur  de  Bargcton's 
demeanor.  Du  Chatelet  played  the  grave  and  the 
m3'Sterious.  After  remaining  a  few  moments  and  ex- 
amining the  faces  of  the  compan}-  Monsieur  de  Barge- 
ton  withdrew. 

''  Have  3'ou  any  pistols?"  whispered  du  Chatelet  to 
Stanislas,  vrho  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

Amelie  understood  the  whole  matter  and  was  taken 
ill ;  the  women  present  took  her  to  her  bedroom.  Great 
excitement  prevailed ;  everybod}'  talked  at  once.  The 
men  sta3'ed  in  the  salon  and  declared  with  unanimous 
voice  that  Monsieur  de  Bargeton  liad  the  right  of  it. 

"  Who  would  have  thought  him  capable  of  behaving 
thus?"  said  Monsieur  de  Saintot. 

"But  in  his  youtli,"  said  the  pitiless  Jacques,  ''he 
was  one  of  the  best  men  of  his  day  witli  weapons.  M3' 
father  has  often  told  me  (^f  his  ex[)l()iis." 


Lost  Illusions.  165 

*'Pooh!  put  them  at  twenty  paces  and  the}'  are 
certain  to  miss  each  other  it'  you  give  them  cavahy 
pistols,"  said  Francis  to  du  Chtitelet. 

When  the  company  had  dispersed,  du  Chatelet  reas- 
sured Stanislas  and  his  wife  by  explaining  how  all 
could  be  made  to  go  well,  and  that  a  duel  between  a 
man  of  sixt\'  and  one  of  thirty -six  was  certain  to  end 
in  favor  of  the  latter. 

The  next  morning,  while  Lucien  was  breakfasting 
with  David,  who  had  returned  from  Marsac  without  his 
father,  Madame  Chardon  came  in  quite  terrified. 

'^  Lucien!  do  you  know  what  has  happened?  the 
news  is  all  over  the  market.  Monsieur  de  Bargeton  al- 
most killed  Monsieur  de  Chandour  this  morning  at  five 
o'clock  in  Monsieur  Tulloye's  field.  It  seems  that 
Monsieur  de  Chandour  said  he  surprised  3'ou  yesterday 
with  Madame  de  Bargeton." 

"It  is  false!  Madame  de  Bargeton  is  innocent," 
cried  Lucien. 

"  A  countr3'man  whom  I  heard  giving  the  details 
saw  the  affair  from  his  cart.  Monsieur  de  Negrepelisse 
was  there  as  Monsieur  de  Bargeton's  second  ;  he  told 
Monsieur  de  Chandour  that  if  anything  happened  to 
his  son-in-law  he  must  fight  him  next.  An  officer  in  a 
cavalry  regiment  lent  his  pistols,  and  Monsieur  de 
Negrepelisse  tried  them  several  times.  Monsieur  du 
Chatelet  wanted  to  prevent  his  trN'ing  them,  but  the 
officer  whom  they  chose  as  umpire  said  that  unless  the}' 
meant  to  behave  like  children  the  weapons  they  used 
ought  to  be  in  good  condition.  The  seconds  placed  the 
two  adversaries  twentj'-five  paces  apart.  Monsieur  de 
Bargeton,  who  was  walking  about  quite  unconcerned, 


166  Lost  Illusions. 

fired  first  and  put  a  ball  in  Monsieur  de  Chandour's 
throat,  who  fell  without  being  able  to  return  the  fire. 
The  surgeon  of  the  hospital  has  since  declared  that 
Monsieur  de  Chandour  will  have  his  neck  awr^'  for  the 
rest  of  his  da3's.  I  came  to  tell  3'ou  the  result  of  the 
duel  so  that  3'ou  may  not  go  to  Madame  de  Bargeton's, 
or  show  yourself  in  Angouleme,  for  the  friends  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Chandour  will  certainh'  try  to  pick  a  quarrel 
with  3'ou." 

Just  then  Gentil,  Monsieur  de  Bargeton's  footman, 
brought  the  following  note  to  Lucien,  who  read  it  hastily 
and  slipped  it  into  his  pocket  :  — 

'^You  have  doubtless  heard,  m3'  dear  friend,  the 
issue  of  the  duel  between  m3^  husband  and  Monsieur 
de  Chandour.  We  receive  no  company  to-day  ;  be  pru- 
dent, do  not  show  yourself  in  society  ;  I  ask  this  in  the 
name  of  the  affection  which  you  bear  to  me.  Do  you 
not  feel  that  the  best  use  3'Ou  can  make  of  this  sad  da3' 
is  to  come  and  listen  to  3'our  Beatrice,  whose  life  is 
completely  changed  b3"  this  event,  and  who  has  man3' 
things  to  say  to  you?  " 

"How  fortunate,"  remarked  David,  "that  my  mar- 
riage is  fixed  for  the  da3^  after  to-morrow  ;  this  will  give 
you  a  reason  for  not  going  to  Madame  de  Bargeton's." 

"  Dear  David,"  replied  Lucien,  "she  wishes  me  to 
go  to  her  to-day  ;  I  think  I  ouglit  to  obe3'  her,  for  she 
must  know  better  than  we  can  how  I  ought  to  behave 
under  existing  circumstances." 

"  Is  the  house  quite  ready?  "  asked  Madame  Chanlon. 

"  Come  and  look  at  it,"  cried  David,  delighted  to 
show  his  mother-in-law  the  transformation  he  had  made 
of  the  apartnjent  on  the  first  Hoor,  where  all  was  new 


Lost  Illusions.  167 

and  fresh.  The  ver}'  air  gave  forth  the  sweetness  that 
fills  a  new-made  home,  where  orange  wreath  and  bridal 
veil  still  crown  domestic  life,  where  the  springtide  of 
love  is  reflected  into  things,  and  all  is  white,  and  fresh, 
and  flowery. 

"Eve  will  live  like  a  princess,"  said  the  mother, 
"but  you  have  spent  too  much  money;  you  are  ver}" 
extravagant." 

David  smiled  without  answering,  for  Madame  Chardon 
had  unwittingly  put  her  finger  into  a  secret  wound  which 
made  the  poor  lover  suflTer  cruelly.  The  cost  of  his  im- 
provements had  gone  so  far  beyond  his  expectations  that 
he  had  no  money  left  with  which  to  build  the  room  above 
the  shed.  He  could  not  therefore  give  his  mother-in- 
law  the  apartment  he  had  destined  for  her.  Generous 
souls  do  suffer  deeply  when  the\'  cannot  keep  such  prom- 
ises which  are,  in  a  wa}*,  the  little  vanities  of  tender- 
ness. But  David  was  careful  to  hide  his  embarrassments 
so  as  to  spare  Lucien's  feelings,  thinking  he  might  feel 
oppressed  by  the  sacrifices  his  friend  had  made  for 
him. 

"  Eve  and  her  friends  have  been  working  too,"  said 
Madame  Chardon.  "The  wedding  clothes  and  the 
household  linen  are  all  readv.  Her  companions  at  the 
shop  are  so  fond  of  her  that  without  her  knowledge 
they  have  covered  all  the  mattresses  in  white  fustian, 
edged  with  pink.  It  is  very  pretty  !  and  makes  one  long 
to  be  married." 

The  mother  and  daughter  had  used  their  savings  in 
supplying  David's  house  with  the  things  that  3'oung  men 
do  not  think  of.  Knowing  that  he  was  buying  luxuries 
(for  there  had  been  some  question  of  a  Limoges  dinner- 


1G8  Lost  Illusions. 

set)  the  two  women  had  tried  to  make  the  things  that 
the}^  contributed  in  keeping  with  those  that  David 
bought.  This  little  emulation  of  love  and  generosit\' 
had  the  result  of  involving  the  newh*  married  pair  and 
pinching  them  for  want  of  means  from  the  ver}'  begin- 
ning of  their  marriage,  although  the3'  had  all  the  out- 
ward appearance  of  middle-class  competence,  which 
might  even  pass  for  opulence  in  so  backward  a  place 
as  Angouleme. 

No  sooner  did  Lucien  see  his  mother  and  David  enter 
the  bedroom,  with  its  blue  and  white  paper  and  the  prett\' 
furniture  now  well-known  to  him,  than  he  slipped  out  of 
the  house  and  hastened  to  Louise.  He  found  her  break- 
fasting with  her  husband,  who,  having  gained  an  unusual 
appetite  from  his  morning  excursion,  was  eating  his 
meal  without  a  thought  of  what  had  happened.  The  old 
countr3'-magnate,  Monsieur  de  Negrepelisse,  an  impos- 
ing figure,  a  relic  of  the  French  noblesse,  was  beside  his 
daughter.  When  Gentil  announced  Monsieur  de  Ru- 
bempre  the  old  man  gave  the  latter  the  inquisitive 
glance  of  a  father  anxious  to  judge  of  a  person  his 
daughter  patronized.  Lucien's  extreme  beauty*  struck 
him  forcibly,  and  he  could  not  refrain  from  a  look  of 
approbation  ;  he  seemed  to  regard  the  intimacy  in  the 
light  of  a  fancy  rather  than  a  passion,  —  a  caprice,  not 
a  lasting  attachment.  Breakfast  was  over  and  Louise, 
rising,  loft  her  fatlicr  with  Monsieur  de  Bargeton,  and 
signed  to  Lucien  to  f(jllow  her. 

"  M}^  friend,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  wns  sad  and 
also  joyous,  "  I  am  going  to  Paris;  and  my  father  is 
to  take  ni}'  husband  to  Ksoarbas,  where  he  will  stay 
during  my  absence.     JMadame  d'Espard,  a  Demoiselle 


Lost  Illusions.  169 

de  Blamont-Chauvrv,  who  is  a  relation  of  mine  through 
the  d'Espards,  the  elder  branch  of  the  Kegrepelisse,  is 
ver\'  influential  in  society  at  the  present  time.  If  she 
deigns  to  recognize  us  at  all,  I  intend  to  cultivate  her ; 
she  can  easil>'  obtain  a  government  position  for  Barge- 
ton  if  she  chooses.  I  think  the  court  might  be  induced 
to  express  a  wish  for  him  as  deput}' ;  if  so,  it  would 
help  his  nomination  here.  It  is  you,  my  dear  child, 
who  have  unconsciously*  brought  about  this  change  in 
my  existence.  The  duel  of  this  morning  obliges  us  to 
close  our  house  here  for  a  time,  because  some  persons 
will  side  withChandour  against  us^  Under  our  present 
circumstances,  and  living  as  we  do  in  a  little  town,  an 
absence  is  alwavs  useful  in  living  time  for  hatreds  and 
prejudices  to  die  out.  Either  I  shall  succeed  in  these 
plans,  and  never  return  to  Angouleme,  or  else  I  shall 
not  succeed  ;  in  which  case  I  should  prefer  to  remain 
in  Paris  during  the  winters,  and  go  to  Escarbas  ever}' 
summer.  It  is  the  only  life  that  is  suitable  for  a  woman 
of  character  and  position,  and  I  ought  to  have  taken  it 
before.  To-daj'  will  suffice  for  m}-  preparations,  and  to- 
morrow I  start  after  night-fall.  You  will  accompany 
me,  will  you  not?  I  would  rather  3'ou  left  Angouleme 
before  me.  I  will  pick  you  up  between  Mansle  and 
Ruffec,  and  we  shall  soon  be  in  Paris.  There,  dear  Lu- 
cien,  is  the  only  true  life  for  superior  minds.  We  shall 
feel  at  ease  among  our  equals  ;  here  we  can  only  suffer. 
Paris,  the  capital  of  the  intellectual  world,  will  be  the 
theatre  of  your  success.  Spring  boldly  across  the  inter- 
vening space  ;  do  not  suffer  your  ideas  to  turn  rancid 
in  the  provinces  ;  seek  communion  now,  at  once,  with 
the  great  men  of  the  nineteenth  century.     Come  nearer 


170  Lost  Illusions. 

to  the  throne  and  to  power.  Distinctions  and  dignities 
never  seek  the  genius  that  stagnates  in  the  provinces. 
Name  me  any  truly  noble  work  that  provincial  life  has 
nurtured.  On  the  contrarj-,  behold  that  poor,  sublime 
Jean-Jacques,  irresistibly  drawn  by  the  moral  sun  which 
creates  all  fame  and  awakens  intellect  by  the  friction  of 
rivalries.  Ought  you  not  to  hasten  to  take  your  i)lace 
among  the  Pleiades  of  your  day?  You  hardly  realize 
as  yet  how  useful  it  is  for  a  youth  of  genius  to  be 
brought  into  the  light  of  the  highest  society.  I  will 
introduce  you  to  Madame  d'Espard  ;  it  is  difficult  to 
obtain  an  entrance  to  her  salon.  You  will  meet  there 
all  the  greatest  personages  of  the  dav,  ministers,  am- 
bassadors, orators  of  the  Chamber,  distinguished  peers, 
and  man}'  rich  and  influential  persons.  A  man  must 
be  awkward  indeed  if  he  fails  to  obtain  their  interest 
and  good-will  when  he  is  handsome  and  young  and  full 
of  genius.  Great  talents  have  no  littleness  about  them  ; 
they  will  give  you  their  support.  AVhen  you  personally 
attain  a  high  position,  your  works  will  acquire  enor- 
mous value.  For  all  artists,  the  great  secret  to  solve 
is  how  to  get  into  the  public  eye.  Paris,  Lucien.  under 
these  circumstances,  offers  you  a  thousand  opportunities 
for  making  your  fortune,  obtaining  a  sinecure,  or  a  pen- 
sion from  the  Privy-purse.  The  IJourbons  wish  to  en- 
courage letters  and  the  arts ;  therefore  make  yourself 
the  religious  poet  and  the  royalist  poet  whom  they  want. 
Not  only  is  it  rigJit  that  you  should  be  that,  but  it  will 
make  your  fortune.  Does  the  Opposition,  does  liberal- 
ism give  i)laces,  pensions,  rewards?  have  they  ever 
been  known  to  make  the  Ibrtune  of  a  writer?  There- 
fore choose  the  wise  })ath  and  come  with  me  to  Paris, 


Lost  Illusions.  171 

where  all  men  of  genius  gather.  T  have  told  you  m}' 
secret ;  but  be  silent  about  it,  and  get  read\-  at  once 
to  accompan}'  me  —  Do  you  not  wish  it?  "  she  added, 
presently,  astounded  at  the  silence  of  her  lover. 

Lucien,  bewildered  by  the  rapid  glance  he  had  thrown 
towards  Paris  as  he  listened  to  her  persuasive  words, 
thought  he  had  never  until  that  moment  used  more 
than  half  of  his  brain  ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was 
suddenly  developing  another  half,  so  immensely  were 
his  ideas  magnifj-ing  themselves ;  he  saw  himself  in 
Angouleme  like  a  frog  under  a  stone  in  the  middle 
of  a  bog.  Paris  and  its  splendors  —  Paris,  which  is  to 
provincial  imaginations  an  P^ldorado  —  stood  before  him 
with  her  robe  of  gold,  a  circlet  of  roj'al  jewels  in  her 
hair,  her  arms  wide  open  to  embrace  all  talent.  Illus- 
trious men  would  hail  him  as  a  brother.  In  the  great 
city  all  things  smiled  on  genius.  No  jealous  sprigs  of 
countrified  nobilit}'  would  humiliate  a  writer  with  sting- 
ing words  or  dull  indifference  to  poesy.  After  reading 
a  few  pages  of  his  ''Archer  of  Charles  IX."  publishers 
would  open  their  cash-box,  and  sa}'  to  him:  ''How 
much  do  3'ou  want  for  it?"  Moreover,  the  thought 
came  into  his  mind  that  after  such  a  journey,  when 
circumstances  seemed  to  marry  them,  Madame  de  Barge- 
ton  would  certainh'  be  his  and  they  would  live  together. 

To  the  words,  "  Do  you  not  wish  it?"  he  answered 
b}'  a  tear,  caught  Louise  round  the  waist,  pressed  her  to 
his  heart,  and  crimsoned  her  neck  by  the  violence  of 
his  kisses.  Then  he  stopped  short  suddenly,  struck  b}' 
a  thought,  and  exclaimed :  "Good  God!  m}'  sister  is 
to  be  married  that  ver}'  da}'." 

That  cry  was  the  last  utterance  of  his  pure  and  noble 


172  Lost  Illusions, 

3'outh.  The  powerful  ties  which  bind  young  hearts  to 
their  famil}',  to  their  earliest  friend,  to  all  their  primi- 
tive emotions,  were  now  to  be  cut  through  as  b}-  an  axe. 

''  Will  you  tell  me,"  said  the  haughty  woman,  "what 
the  marriage  of  3'our  sister  has  to  do  with  the  progress 
of  our  love  ?  Are  you  so  desirous  of  dancing  at  a  work- 
man's wedding  that  3'ou  cannot  sacrifice  such  noble 
J03S?  A  fine  sacrifice!"  she  said,  contemptuousl3\ 
"I  sent  my  husband  to  fight  a  duel  on  your  account, 
and  these  are  your  sacrifices  for  me  !  Leave  me  ;  I  am 
deceived  in  3'ou." 

She  fell  half-fainting  on  the  sofa.  Lucien  followed 
her,  entreating  pardon,  inwardly  cursing  David,  his 
sister,  his  family. 

"I  believed  in  you!"  she  said.  "Monsieur  de 
Cante-Croix  had  a  mother  whom  he  idolized,  yet  to 
obtain  a  letter  from  me  in  which  I  said,  '  I  am  content 
with  you,'  he  died  under  fire.  And  you,  when  I  ask 
you  to  travel  with  me,  you  cannot  forego  a  wedding 
feast !  " 

Lucien  was  read}^  to  kill  himself,  and  his  despair  was 
so  genuine,  so  profound,  that  Louise  forgave  him,  mak- 
ing him  feel,  however,  that  he  would  have  to  atone  for 
his  crime. 

"Well,  well,"  she  said  at  last,  "be  very  discreet, 
and  wait  for  me  to-morrow  at  midnight  a  short  distance 
beyond  Mansle." 

Lucien  walked  on  air ;  he  returned  to  David's  house 
followed  by  his  hopes  as  Orestes  by  the  Furies,  for  he 
foresaw  a  crowd  of  diniculties,  all  of  which  might  be 
summed  up  in  the  one  word  "  money."  David's  clear- 
sightedness alarmed  him  so  nuu-h  that  he  shut  himself 


Lost  Illusions.  173 

iip  in  his  prett}'  study  to  recover  from  the  giddiness  his 
new  prospects  gave  him.  Must  he  leave  these  rooms 
arranged  for  him  at  such  a  cost?  should  he  let  the  sac- 
rifice be  useless?  Perhaps  his  mother  could  live  there, 
and  David  would  thus  economize  the  building  he  pro- 
posed to  make  above  the  shed.  His  departure  would 
certainly  benefit  liis  family.  In  short,  he  found  a  hun- 
dred reasons  to  encourage  his  flight,  for  there  is  noth- 
ing so  Jesuitical  as  a  wish.  Having  reached  this  point 
in  his  mental  discussion  he  rushed  to  I'Houmeau  to  find 
his  sister  and  tell  her  of  his  prospects,  and  arrange  his 
l^lans  with  her.  As  he  passed  Postel's  shop  the  thought 
occurred  to  him  that  if  he  could  not  otherwise  find 
means  he  would  borrow  from  his  father's  successor  the 
sum  he  needed. 

"  If  I  live  with  Louise,"  he  said  to  himself,  "five 
francs  a  daj'  will  be  a  fortune  to  me,  and  that  is  only  a 
thousand  francs  a  year.  2sow  in  six  months  I  shall 
be  rich." 

Eve  and  her  mother  listened,  under  promise  of  se- 
crecy, to  Lucien's  confidences.  The}'  both  wept  as 
they  did  so,  and  when  the  ambitious  3'outh  asked  why 
the\'  were  so  distressed  thej'  told  him  that  all  their  sav- 
ings were  absorbed  in  the  household  linen  and  Eve's 
trousseau  and  other  expenses,  which  they  had  been  glad 
to  pav,  because  David  had  settled  upon  Eve  a  promised 
dower  of  ten  thousand  francs.  Lucien  then  told  them 
his  idea  of  borrowing  from  Postel,  and  Madame  Char- 
don  agreed  to  go  and  ask  the  apothecary  for  a  thousand 
francs. 

"  But,  Lucien,"  said  Eve,  with  a  tightening  of  the 
heart,  "  if  you  go  you  can't  be  at  my  wedding.     Oh! 


174  Lost  Illusions, 

come  back  ;  I  '11  wait  a  few  days.  She  will  let  yon 
come  back  in  a  fortnight  after  yon  have  taken  her 
there.  She  can  surely  let  us  have  you  for  a  week  or 
so.  I  know  the  marriage  won't  turn  out  well  unless 
^•ou  are  here  —  But  will  a  thousand  francs  be  enough  ? " 
she  said,  interrupting  herself  suddenly.  '*  Though  that 
coat  of  yours  fits  you  divinely-,  it  is  the  only  one  you 
have !  You  have  only  two  fine  shirts,  the  rest  are  all 
coarse  linen  ;  you  've  only  three  cambric  cravats,  the 
other  three  are  common  jaconet ;  and  your  handker- 
chiefs are  not  nice.  You  won't  have  a  sister  in  Paris 
to  wash  your  linen  in  the  morning  when  yow  want  it  at 
night,  and  therefore  you  ought  to  have  more  changes. 
You  have  only  had  one  new  pair  of  nankeen  trousers 
this  year ;  those  of  last  year  have  shrunk.  You  must 
get  some  new  clothes  in  Paris,  and  Paiis  prices  are  not 
those  of  Angouleme.  You  have  only  two  waistcoats 
that  are  fit  to  wear  —  I  have  mended  all  the  others.  I 
advise  you  to  take  two  thousand  francs  if  you  can.'' 

David  came  in  just  then  and  seemed  to  have  heard 
Eve's  last  words,  for  he  looked  at  the  brother  and  sister, 
who  stopped  speaking. 

''  Don't  hide  anything  from  me,"  he  said. 

*'  Well,"  said  Eve,  '^  he  is  going  to  Paris  with 
Madame  de  Bargeton." 

"  Postel,"  said  Madame  Chardon,  coming  in  at  the 
moment  without  seeiug  David,  "  agrees  to  lend  us  one 
thousand  francs,  but  for  six  months  only,  and  he  wants 
a  note  indorsed  b}'  your  brother-in  law,  for  he  says  you 
have  no  security." 

She  turned  at  the  moment  and  saw  David,  and  nil 
four  persons   were   silent.     Tiie  Chardon   laniily  knew 


Lost  llludons.  175 

"how  much  they  had   imposed  on  David's  generosity'; 
the\'  felt  ashamed  of  it. 

"•Then  you  cannot  be  at  m\'  marriage,"  said  David, 
*'  and  3'ou  will  not  live  with  us  !  and  I  have  spent  every 
penny  I  had  !  Ah,  Lucien,  I  was  bringing  Eve  her 
poor  little  wedding  jewels,  little  dreaming  that  I  should 
regret  having  bought  them  ; "  and  he  pulled  the  cases 
covered  with  morocco  from  his  pocket  and  placed  them 
on  the  table  before  his  mother-in-law, 

"  AVhy  do  you  do  so  much  for  me?"  said  Eve,  with 
a  smile  that  corrected  her  words. 

"Dear  mamma,"  said  David,  "go  and  tell  Postel 
that  I  will  indorse  the  note,  for  I  see  by  your  face, 
Lucien,  that  3'ou  are  resolved  to  go." 

Lucien  bent  his  head  softly  and  sadl}',  saying  a  mo- 
ment later,  "Don't  think  hardly  of  me,  dear  angels." 
He  put  his  arms  round  Eve  and  David,  drew  them  close 
to  his  heart,  kissed  them,  and  added,  "  Wait  results, 
and  you  will  then  know  how  I  love  you.  David,  what 
would  be  the  good  of  all  our  great  thoughts  if  we  were 
not  above  the  conventional  laws  which  hamper  senti- 
ment? Mv  soul  will  be  with  you  wherever  I  am; 
thought  will  unite  us.  I  have  a  destin}"  to  accomplish. 
Publishers  will  certainl3^  take  m}^' Archer  of  Charles 
IX.'  and  the  'Daisies.'  Sooner  or  later  I  must  have 
done  what  I  am  going  to  do  now ;  could  I  have  done  it 
under  more  favorable  circumstances  ?  Am  I  not  making 
my  fortune  b}^  the  mere  fact  of  entering  Paris  under  the 
auspices  of  the  Marquise  d'Espard?" 

"  He  is  right,"  said  Eve.  ''You  3-0 urself  told  me  he 
ought  to  go  to  Paris." 

David  took  Eve  bv  the  hand  and  led  her  into  the 


176  Lost  Illusions. 

narrow  little  closet  in  which  she  had  slept  for  the  last 
seven  3'ears.  "  You  say  he  needs  two  thousand  francs, 
dear  love,"  he  whispered,  "and  Postel  will  onl}'  lend 
him  one  thousand." 

Eve  looked  at  her  lover  with  an  expression  of  pain 
that  told  her  inward  suffering. 

''  Listen  to  me,  my  own  Eve  ;  we  are  going  to  begin 
life  in  a  poor  way.  Yes,  m}'  expenses  have  eaten  up 
nearly  all  I  owned.  I  have  but  two  tliousand  francs 
left,  and  half  of  that  sum  is  absolutel}'  necessary  to 
cany  on  the  printing  office.  To  give  a  thousand  francs 
to  your  brother  is  to  give  away  our  own  bread  and  risk 
our  peace  and  comfort.  If  I  were  alone  I  know  what 
I  should  do,  but  we  are  now  two  ;  you  must  decide." 

Eve,  overcome,  flung  herself  into  her  lover's  arms, 
kissed  him  tenderly,  and  whispered,  as  her  tears  flowed  : 
''  Do  as  if  3-ou  were  alone  ;  I  can  w^oik  to  make  it  up." 

In  spite  of  the  warmest  kiss  the  lovers  had  ever  yet 
exchanged,  David  *left  Eve  deepl}'  depressed,  and  re- 
turned to  find  Lucien. 

"  You  shall  have  the  two  thousand  francs,"  he  said. 

"  Go  and  see  Postel,"  said  Madame  Chardon,  "  for 
3'ou  must  both  sign  the  paper." 

AVhen  the  two  friends  returned  they  found  Eve  and 
hor  mother  on  their  knees  praying.  Tliougii  they  knew 
liow  man}'  hopes  this  departure  might  realize,  they 
could  only  feel  at  such  a  moment  what  they  lost  in  this 
farewell ;  happiness  to  come  was  dearly  paid  for  by  an 
absence  which  would  l)reak  into  their  lives  and  fill  their 
minds  with  j)erpetual  anxiet}'  about  Lucien. 

"  If  you  ever  f()rLi,ot  this  scene,"  said  David  in  Lii- 
cicn's  ear,   ''  you  will  be  the  most  unworthv  of  men." 


Lost  Illusions.  177 

■  The  printer  felt,  no  doubt,  tliat  solemn  words  were 
necessary'.  He  dreaded  the  influence  of  Madame  de 
Bargeton  as  much  as  he  feared  the  fatal  mobility  of 
nature,  which  was  quite  as  likely  to  cast  Lucien  into 
evil  as  into  good. 

Eve  soon  made  ready  Lucien's  baggage.  This  lit- 
erary Fernando  Cortes  took  little  with  him.  He  wore 
his  best  surtout  and  best  waistcoat  and  one  of  his  two 
fine  shirts.  All  his  linen  and  the  famous  dress-coat, 
his  other  property  and  his  manuscripts  made  such  a 
small  package  that,  in  order  to  hide  it  from  Madame  de 
Bargeton's  eyes,  David  offered  to  send  it  b}'  diligence 
to  his  correspondent,  a  paper-maker,  to  whom  he  wrote, 
requesting  him  to  keep  the  package  till  Lucien  called 
for  it. 

Notwithstanding  Madame  de  Bargeton's  precautions 
and  her  efforts  to  conceal  her  departure,  Monsieur  du 
Chatelet  heard  of  it,  and  was  determined  to  find  out 
whether  she  was  going  alone  or  whether  Lucien  accom- 
panied her.  He  sent  his  valet  to  Ruffec  to  examine  all 
carriages  which  stopped  there  to  change  horses. 

"  If  she  carries  off  her  poet,''  thought  he,  "she  is 
mine." 

Lucien  started  the  following  morning  at  daybreak, 
accompanied  by  David,  who  hired  a  horse  and  cabriolet 
on  pretence  of  driving  out  to  do  some  business  with  his 
father,  —  a  trifling  fib,  which,  under  existing  circum- 
stances, was  likelj'  enough  to  be  true.  The  two  friends 
did  go  to  Marsac,  where  they  spent  a  part  of  the  day 
with  the  old  bear.  In  the  evening  the}'  drove  on  be- 
yond Mansle,  where  they  awaited  Madame  de  Bargeton, 
who  arrived  towards  morning.     When  Lucien  saw  the 

12 


178  Lost  Illusions. 

antiquated  sexagenaiy  carriage  he  had  often  noticed  in 
the  coachhouse,  he  experienced  one  of  the  keenest 
emotions  of  his  life.  He  flung  himself  into  David's 
arms ;  the  printer  pressed  him  to  his  heart  and  said ; 
'*  God  grant  that  this  may  be  for  your  good." 

David  got  back  into  the  old  cabriolet  and  drove  awa^' 
with  an  aching  heart ;  for  he  had  horrible  presentiments 
as  to  Lucien's  fate  in  Paris. 

Note.  — The  next  part  of  "Illusions  Perdues"  gives  the  his- 
tory of  Lucien's  lite  in  Paris.  This,  as  aheaJy  explained,  will  form 
the  second  volume  of  the  translation.  It  is  enough  to  say  here  that 
Lucien  and  Aladame  de  Bargeton  no  sooner  reached  Paris  than  they 
were  disillusioned  of  each  other.  In  the  glamour  of  the  great  city, 
Lucien  thought  Louise  old  and  dowdy  ;  Louise  perceived  that  an 
intimacy  with  Lucien  would  hinder  her  social  success.  They  parted 
immediately.  Lucien  then  plunged  into  various  phases  of  literary 
and  journalistic  life  in  Paris,  the  history  of  which,  under  the  title 
of  "A  Great  j\lan  in  the  Provinces  in  Paris,"  will  be  the  second 
volume  of  "Lost  Illusions." 


'm 


Lost  Illusions.  179 


PART    11. 


EVE    AND    DAVID. 
I. 

A   BRATE    TVOMAN. 

After  Lncieii's  departure  David  Sechard  —  that  ox, 
courageous  and  intelligent  as  tlie  one  which  painters 
give  to  the  EvangeUst — set  to  work  to  make  the  great 
and  rapid  fortune  which  he  had  desired,  less  for  himself 
than  for  Eve  and  for  Lucien,  that  evening  when  he  sat 
with  Eve  beside  the  river  and  she  gave  him  her  hand 
and  heart.  To  put  his  wife  into  the  sphere  of  comfort 
and  elegance  in  which  she  was  formed  to  live,  to  sup- 
port with  a  powerful  arm  her  brother's  ambition,  such 
was  the  programme  written  before  his  eves  in  letters  of 
fire.  The  newspapers,  politics,  the  immense  develop- 
ment of  book-making  and  literature  and  science,  the 
tendency  to  public  discussion  of  all  the  interests  of  the 
nation,  the  whole  social  movement  which  took  place  as 
soon  as  the  Restoration  was  firmly  established,  would, 
he  was  confident,  create  a  demand  for  paper  tenfold 
greater  than  the  celebrated  Ouvrard  estimated,"  on  a 
like  basis,  at  the  beginning  of  the  Revolution.  But  in 
1821  the  paper-makers  had  become  too  numerous  in 
France  for  any  one  man  to  hope  for  a  monopoly  of  the 


180  Lost  Illusions. 

trade,  such  as  Oiivrard  bad  when  he  bought  up  the 
prhicipal  factories  and  all  their  output. 

Besides,  David  had  neither  the  boldness  nor  the 
capital  for  such  speculation.  Just  at  this  time  the 
machinery  required  to  manufacture  paper  of  all  lengths 
was  coming  into  use  in  England.  Nothing,  therefore, 
was  more  desirable  than  the  discover}-  of  some  means 
of  adapting  the  manufacture  of  paper  to  the  needs  of 
French  civilization,  which  threatened  to  carrj'  discus- 
sion into  everything,  and  to  rest  on  the  perpetual  mani- 
festation of  individual  thought,  —  a  great  misfortune  ; 
for  the  peoples  that  deliberate  most,  act  the  least. 

Therefore,  strange  to  say,  while  Lucien  was  being 
caught  into  the  great  machine  of  journalism  at  the  risk 
of  tearing  into  shreds  his  honor  and  his  intellect,  David 
Sechard,  in  the  depths  of  his  provincial  printing-office, 
was  becoming  connected  with  the  movement  of  the 
periodical  press  in  its  material  aspects.  He  wished  to 
put  the  means  of  printing  on  a  level  with  the  ends 
towards  which  the  spirit  of  the  age  was  tending.  In 
this  his  judgment  was  good,  he  saw  clearly  that  a  for- 
tune was  to  be  made  by  the  manufacture  of  paper  at 
a  low  price,  and  subsequent  events  have  justified  his 
foresight.  During  the  last  fifteen  years  the  patent  office 
has  received  more  than  a  hundred  applications  from 
persons  claiming  to  have  discovered  a  substance  for  the 
manufacture  of  cheap  paper.  More  certain  than  ever 
of  the  utility  of  his  discovery  (inglorious  as  it  was,  but 
promising  vast  profits),  he  became,  after  his  brother-in- 
law  started  for  Paris,  entirely  absorbed  in  the  problem 
be  wanted  to  solve. 

As  his  resources  were  exhausted  by  the  preparations 


Lost  Illusions.  181 

for  his  marriage  and  the  monc}'  he  had  given  to  Lucien 

for  his  journey  to  Paris,  David  found  himself,  from  the 
day  he  became  a  married  man,  in  actual  distress,  lie 
had  kept  a  thousand  francs  for  the  needs  of  the  printing- 
oflice,  and  he  owed  the  note  of  a  thousand  francs  to 
Postel,  the  apothecary.  To  this  profound  thinker,  the 
problem  was  a  two-fold  one.  He  must  invent,  and  in- 
vent quickly  ;  he  must  adapt  the  profits  of  his  discovery 
to  the  needs  of  his  household  and  his  business.  Now, 
how  shall  we  characterize  a  brain  capable  of  shaking  off 
the  painful  preoccupations  which  arose  from  a  poverty 
that  must  be  concealed,  from  the  wants  of  a  famil}'  lack- 
ing bread,  from  the  daily  requirements  of  a  business  as 
minuteh'  exacting  as  that  of  printing,  all  the  while 
searching  the  realms  of  the  unknown  with  the  ardor  of 
a  scientist  in  pursuit  of  a  secret  which,  day  after 
day,  escapes  the  most  subtle  researches  ?  Alas  !  as  we 
shall  see,  inventors  have  man}-  ills  to  bear,  not  counting 
the  ingratitude  of  the  masses,  the  idlers,  and  the  inca- 
pables,  who  sa}'  of  a  man  of  genius  :  "  He  was  born  to 
be  an  inventor,  for  he  can't  do  anything  else.  He  is 
not  to  be  thanked  for  his  discover}'  an}'  more  than  a 
man  should  be  thanked  for  being  born  a  prince  ;  he 
merely  exercises  his  natural  faculties,  and  he  finds  his 
reward  in  the  work  itself.  " 

Marriage  is  a  cause  of  great  perturbations  both  moral 
and  physical  to  a  young  girl,  but  when  she  marries  in 
tlie  bourgeois  conditions  of  the  middle  classes  she  has, 
in  addition,  to  study  new  interests,  and  to  initiate  her- 
self in  the  management  of  affairs  ;  hence  comes  a  phase 
in  her  life  when  she  necessarily  is  on  the  watch  to  learn 
before  she  can  act.     David's  love  for  his  wife  unhappily 


182  LoHt  Illusions. 

retarded  tliis  education  ;  he  dared  not  tell  her  the  state 
of  things,  neither  on  the  morrow  of  their  marriage,  nor 
on  the  following  days.  In  spite  of  the  great  distress  to 
which  his  father's  avarice  condemned  him,  the  poor 
printer  could  not  bring  himself  to  spoil  his  honeymoon 
by  teaching  Eve  a  sad  apprenticeship  to  his  laborious 
trade,  or  b}-  training  her  to  the  duties  of  a  business 
man's  wife.  Consequently,  the  thousand  francs,  their 
only  means,  which  ought  to  have  carried  on  the  printing- 
office,  went  chiefl}'  to  support  the  household.  David's 
recklessness  and  his  wife's  ignorance  lasted  three 
months  !  The  awakening  was  terrible.  When  Lucien's 
note  to  Postel,  which  David  had  indorsed,  fell  due, 
there  was.  no  money  to  meet  it,  and  the  cause  of  this 
debt  was  so  well  known  to  Eve  that  she  insisted  on 
sacrificing  her  wedding  jewels  and  all  her  plate. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  when  the  note  was  paid 
b}'  these  proceeds  Eve  tried  to  make  David  talk  to  her 
about  his  affairs.  Since  the  second  month  of  their  mar- 
riage David  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  time 
under  the  shed  in  the  courtyard,  in  a  little  room  which 
was  used  to  cast  his  rollers.  Three  months  after  he 
had  taken  the  printing-office  from  his  lather,  he  had 
substituted  for  the  pads  then  in  use  ink-tables,  with 
cylinders,  which  distribute  the  ink  by  means  of  rollers 
made  of  thick  glue  and  molasses.  This  first  improve- 
ment was  so  undeniably'  good  that  as  soon  as  the 
Brothers  Cointet  saw  the  result  they  adoi)ted  it.  Davitl 
had  built  against  the  party-wall  whieli  formed  t1>o  back 
of  this  species  of  kitchen  a  fiu-nace,  with  a  Avide  copi)er 
pan  or  boiler,  under  i)rotence  of  burning  less  cdmI 
in  rc-castin"'   his  rollers,    the  rustv    moulds   for  which 


Lost  IlIusioni<.  18-5 

were  ranged  along  the  walls  and  were  never  used  twice. 
Then  he  not  only  put  a  thick  oaken  door,  lined  inside 
with  sheet  iron,  to  this  room,  but  he  took  out  the  dirty 
panes  of  the  sashes  and  replaced  them  with  fluted  glass, 
which  let  in  the  light,  but  prevented  those  outside  from 
observing  his  occupations. 

The  moment  Eve  spoke  to  her  husband  about  their 
future,  he  looked  at  her  uneasih',  and  stopped  her  with 
these  words :  — 

"  My  dearest,  I  know  what  you  must  think  at  the 
sight  of  that  empty  workroom  and  the  sort  of  conmier- 
cial  annihilation  which  has  come  over  the  business  ; 
but  look  there,"  he  added,  drawing  her  to  the  window 
of  their  bedroom  and  showing  her  his  mysterious  retreat ; 
"our  fortune  is  there.  ^Ye  shall  have  to  suffer  for  a 
few  months,  but  let  us  bear  it  patienth* ;  leave  me  to 
solve  the  industrial  problem  I  told  you  about,  which 
will  put  an  end  to  all  our  troubles." 

David  was  so  good,  his  unselfish  devotion  so  well 
deserved  to  be  trusted  on  his  word,  that  the  poor  wife, 
anxious,  like  all  women,  about  the  dail}-  costs  of  the 
household  and  the  expenses  of  the  printing-house,  re- 
solved to  save  her  husband  from  all  such  cares.  The 
next  day  she  left  the  pretty  blue  and  white  room,  where 
she  was  in  the  habit  of  sitting  at  work  on  some  femi- 
nine occupation,  and  went  down  into  one  of  the  two 
wooden  cages  in  the  press-room,  determined  to  study 
the  commercial  system  of  typography.  Was  not  this 
true  heroism  in  a  woman  alread}'  pregnant?  During 
the  last  few  months  David's  stagnant  press-room  was 
gradually  emptied  of  workmen  required  until  then  for 
the  business,  but  who  had  now  departed,  one  after  the 


184  Lost  Illusions. 

other.  Overwhelmed  with  custom,  the  Cointet  Brothers 
employed,  not  onh'  the  workmen  of  the  department, 
attracted  to  their  establishment  by  the  prospect  of  full 
days'  w^ork,  but  also  printers  from  Bordeaux,  among 
them  apprentices  who  thought  themselves  clever  enough 
to  shirlv  the  conditions  of  apprenticeship. 

When  Eve  began  to  examine  into  the  resources  of 
the  firm  of  Sechard  she  found  onh'  three  persons  em- 
ployed there :  first,  Ce'rizet,  tlie  apprentice  whom 
David  had  brought  from  Paris  ;  then  Marion,  attached 
to  the  house  like  a  watch-dog ;  and  Kolb,  an  Alsacian, 
formerly  man-of-all-work  at  the  Didots'.  Drafted  into 
the  arm}',  Kolb  liad  turned  up  in  Angouleme,  where 
David  saw  him  at  a  review  about  the  time  his  military 
service  was  ending.  Kolb  went  to  see  David  and  took 
a  fancy  to  the  stout  Marion,  finding  that  slie  possessed 
all  tlie  qualities  a  man  of  his  class  wants  in  a  wife,  — 
the  vigorous  healtli  that  colored  her  clieeks,  the  mascu- 
line strength  wliich  enabled  her  to  lift  a  form  of  type 
easil}',  the  religious  honesty  of  which  Alsacians  think 
so  much,  the  devotion  to  her  masters  which  revealed  a 
natural  goodness,  and  lastly,  tliat  spirit  of  economy  to 
which  slie  owed  the  possession  of  a  thousand  francs 
besides  houseliold  linen,  gowns,  and  clothes  of  provin- 
cial nicety.  Marion,  tall  and  stout  and  tiiirty-six  years 
old,  was  flattered  b}-  tlie  attentions  of  a  cuirassier  nearly 
six  feet  tall,  well-made,  strong  as  a  bastion  ;  and  she 
naturally  advised  him  to  become  a  printer.  By  the 
time  the  Alsacian  received  his  final  discharge,  Marion 
and  David  between  thorn  had  made  him  a  respectable 
"  bear,"  who  was,  however,  unable  to  read  or  write. 

The  work  which  cunie  to  the  ollice  was  not  so  abun- 


Lost  Illusioris.  185 

dant  during  the  last  three  months  but  that  Cerizet 
sufficed  to  set  it  up.  Compositor,  cHeker,  and  foreman, 
Cerizet  reaUzed  in  his  own  person  what  Kant  calls  a 
plienomenal  triplicit}' ;  he  composed,  corrected  his  com- 
position, wrote  down  tiie  orders,  made  out  the  bills ; 
but,  as  he  usuall}'  had  little  to  do,  he  spent  most  of  his 
time  reading  novels  in  his  cage,  awaiting  customers 
w^ho  brought  in  advertisements,  posters,  or  wedding- 
cards.  Marion,  trained  b}'  old  Sechard,  made  up  the 
paper,  damped  it,  helped  Kolb  to  print  it,  stretched  it, 
pared  it,  all  the  while  minding  her  cooking  and  going 
b}'  daybreak  to  market. 

When  Eve  obtained  from  Cerizet  the  accounts  for 
the  last  six  months,  she  found  that  the  receipts  had 
been  six  hundred  francs.  The  expenses,  reckoning 
the  wages  of  Cerizet  at  two  francs  a  day  and  those  of 
Kolb  at  one  franc,  amounted  also  to  about  six  hundred. 
Now,  as  the  cost  of  material  required  for  the  work  done 
amounted  to  over  a  hundred  francs,  it  was  clear  to  Eve 
that  during  the  first  six  months  of  their  married  life 
David  had  lost  the  interest  on  the  property,  due  to 
his  father  in  rent ;  also  that  of  the  value  of  his  material 
and  his  license  ;  also  the  wages  of  Marion,  and  the  cost 
of  the  ink,  and  of  the  mass  of  things  expressed  in  a 
jDrinting-office  b}'  the  word  "stuff,"  —  a  term  derived 
from  the  cloths  and  silks  used  to  make  the  pressure  of 
the  screw  less  severe  on  the  t3'pe,  by  inserting  a  square 
of  some  stuff,  called  the  "  blanket,"  between  the  plate 
of  the  press  and  the  paper. 

After  getting  a  general  idea  of  the  means  of  the 
establishment  and  its  proceeds,  Eve  discovered  how 
few  resources  and  how  little  chance  it  had,  sucked  dr}' 


186  Lost  Illusions, 

as  it  was  by  the  competitive  activit}'  of  the  Brothers 
Cointet,  who  had  gradiialh'  made  themselves  paper- 
makers  as  well  as  journalists,  licensed  printers  to  the 
bishopric,  and  suppliers  to  the  town  and  the  prefecture. 
The  "  Journal  of  Advertisements  "  which  the  Sechards, 
father  and  son,  had  sold  to  the  Cointets  for  twenty-two 
thousand  francs,  was  now  returning  eighteen  thousand 
a  year.  Eve  saw  plainly  enough  the  scheme  hidden 
under  the  apparent  generosit}-  of  the  Cointets,  who  left 
the  Sechard  printing-office  just  enough  work  to  keep  it 
alive,  and  not  enough  to  injure  them.  She  now  took 
the  management  of  its  affairs  into  her  own  hands,  and 
began  by  making  an  exact  inventory  of  all  its  property. 
Then  she  set  Kolb  and  Marion  and  Ce'rizet  to  work  to 
clear  up  the  press-room,  clean  it,  and  put  it  in  perfect 
order. 

One  evening,  when  David  returned  from  an  excursion 
into  the  fields,  followed  by  an  old  woman  bearing  an 
immense  bundle  wrapped  in  cloths,  Eve  asked  his  ad- 
vice as  to  what  she  should  do  with  a  quantity  of  rubbish 
accumulated  and  left  on  their  hands  by  his  father ; 
promising  to  attend  to  all  the  affairs  of  the  printing- 
office  herself,  and  not  to  trouble  him.  By  his  advice, 
Madame  Sechard  took  all  the  remnants  of  paper  she  had 
found,  and  sorted  and  printed  on  them,  in  two  columns 
and  on  single  sheets,  a  variety  of  those  popular  legends 
which  the  peasants  delight  in  pasting  on  the  walls  of 
their  huts;  such,  for  instance,  as  the  '' Wandering 
Jew,"  "Robert-le-Diable,"  "La  Belle-Maguelonno,'* 
and  the  narrative  of  certain  miracles.  Eve  turned 
Kolb  into  a  peddler.  Ccri/et  went  to  work  at  once  and 
set  up  the  type  of  these  artless  sheets  and  their  coarse 


Lost  Illusions,  187 

illustrations,  from  morning  till  night.  Marion  printed 
them  off.  Madame  Chardon  took  charge  of  the  house- 
hold, for  Eve  was  bus}-  coloring  tlie  illustrations.  In 
two  months'  time,  thanks  to  Kolb's  activity  and  honesty, 
Madame  Sechard  sold,  in  a  circuit  of  tliirty  miles 
around  Angouleme,  three  thousand  sheets,  which  cost 
her  thirty  francs  to  make,  and  brought  her  in,  at  two 
sous  a  sheet,  three  hundred  francs. 

But  when  all  the  cottages  and  taverns  were  papered 
with  these  legends,  some  other  speculation  had  to  be 
thought  of,  for  Kolb  was  unable  to  leave  the  depart- 
ment. Eve,  who  had  fairlj'  rummaged  the  printing- 
house,  found  a  collection  of  figures  used  in  printing 
an  almanac,  called  the  ''  Shepherds'  Almanac,"  in  which 
things  are  represented  b}"  signs,  figures,  images,  en- 
graved in  red,  black,  or  blue.  Old  Sechard,  who  him- 
self was  unable  to  read  or  write,  had  formerly  earned  a 
great  deal  of  money  out  of  this  work,  which  was  in- 
tended for  persons  who  could  not  read.  It  was  sold 
at  a  sou,  and  consisted  of  one  sheet  folded  sixty-four 
times,  making  one  hundred  and  twent3--eight  pages. 
Delighted  with  the  success  of  her  legends,  Madame 
Sechard  undertook  the  -'Shepherds'  Almanac"  on  a 
larger  scale,  putting  her  profits  into  it.  The  paper  of 
this  almanac,  of  which  many  millions  of  copies  are  sold 
aunuall}^  in  France,  is  coarser  than  that  of  the  "  Alma- 
nac Liegois,"  and  costs  about  four  francs  the  ream. 
AVhen  printed,  this  ream,  which  contains  five  hundred 
sheets,  brings  in,  at  a  sou  a  sheet,  twenty-five  francs. 
Madame  Sechard  resolved  on  using  one  hundred  reams 
for  a  first  edition,  which  made  fifty  thousand  almanacs 
to  sell,  and  a  profit  of  two  thousand  francs  to  earn. 


188  Lost  Illusions. 

However  absorbed  an  inventor  ma}'  be,  David  was 
surprised,  as  he  glanced  at  his  press-room,  to  hear  the 
presses  groaning,  and  to  see  Ce'rizet  al\va3-s  standing 
and  composing  under  Madame  Se'chard's  direction. 
The  da}-  when  he  entered  the  room  to  give  an  eye  to 
Eve's  enterprises  was  one  of  triumph  for  the  3'oung 
wife,  for  he  fulh'  approved  of  everything  and  thought 
the  idea  of  the  almanac  excellent.  He  promised  his 
advice  in  the  employment  of  inks  of  various  colors, 
necessitated  by  the  designs  of  the  almanac,  which  spoke 
onl}'  to  the  e3'e.  In  fact,  he  offered  to  recast  the  rollers 
himself  in  his  mysterious  workshop,  so  as  to  help  his 
wife  as  much  as  he  could  in  her  great  little  enterprise. 

About  this  time  letters  began  to  arrive  from  Lucien 
describing  his  disappointments  and  distress  in  Paris, 
and  the  three  hundred  francs  which  Eve,  Madame 
Chardon,  and  David  combined  to  send  him  were  a  pure 
offering  of  their  life's  blood.  Overcome  b}-  this  news 
and  distressed  at  earning  so  little  in  return  for  such 
labor  and  courage.  Eve  looked  forward,  with  some 
dread,  to  an  event  which  crowns  with  happiness  a 
new-made  home.  Knowing  herself  on  the  point  of  be- 
coming a  mother,  her  mind  was  full  of  the  one  thought : 
''  If  m}^  dear  David  does  not  succeed  in  his  search 
before  m^-  confinement,  what  will  become  of  us?  who 
will  manage  the  new  business  of  the  poor  printing- 
ofRee?" 

Tlie  "Shepherds'  Almanac"  ought  to  have  been 
read}^  before  the  first  of  January ;  but  C<^rizet,  on 
whom  the  whole  business  of  the  composition  depcMided, 
was  extraordinarily  slow,  and  this  was  the  more  annoy- 
ing because  Madame  S^chard  did  not  know  enough  of 


Lost  Illusions.  189 

the  mechanical  process  of  printing  to  reprimand  him ; 
she  could  only  watch  his  proceedings.  He  was  an  or- 
phan from  the  great  hospital  of  the  ''Enfant-Troiives" 
in  Paris,  b}'  which  he  had  been  apprenticed  to  the 
Didots.  From  the  age  of  fourteen  to  seventeen  he  was 
devoted  to  David,  who  put  him  under  the  direction  of 
the  best  workman,  and  made  him  his  typographic  page  ; 
for  he  was  naturally  interested  in  the  lad's  intelligence 
and  soon  won  his  affection  b}'  giving  him  pleasures  and 
amusements  which  the  bo}'  was  too  poor  to  get  other- 
wise. Cerizet  had  a  rather  pretty  but  pinched  little 
face,  with  red  hair,  and  eyes  of  a  cloud}'  blue  ;  he  had 
brought  the  habits  and  ways  of  a  gamin  de  Paris 
into  the  provinces.  His  sharp,  sarcastic  maliciousness 
made  him  feared.  David  did  not  look  after  him  in 
Angouleme  as  he  had  done  in  Paris,  partly  because  the 
lad  was  older  and  his  mentor  felt  more  confidence  in 
him,  and  partly  because  he  counted  on  provincial  in- 
fluence. The  consequence  was  that  Cerizet  had  be- 
come, unknown  to  his  master,  the  Don  Juan  of  three 
or  four  little  grisettes,  and  was  utterly  depraved.  His 
moralit}',  obtained  originally  in  Parisian  wineshops, 
held  that  personal  advantage  was  the  only  law.  More- 
over, he  knew  that  in  the  coming  year  he  should  be 
drafted  for  militarj'  service  and  drop  his  present  career ; 
consequently,  he  ran  in  debt,  reflecting  that  in  six 
months  he  should  be  a  Soldier  and  his  creditors  could 
not  follow  him.  David  still  had  some  hold  over  the 
lad,  not  as  his  master,  nor  yet  because  he  had  been 
kind  to  him,  but  because  the  ex-gamin  felt  him  to  be  a 
man  of  high  intellect. 

After  a  time  Cerizet  fraternized  with  the  workmen  at 


190  Lost  Illusions. 

the  Cointets',  and  there  he  lost  what  few  good  principles 
David  had  instilled  into  him.  Nevertheless,  when  they 
laughed  at  him  for  the  " sabots''  of  his  master,  —  mean- 
ing the  old  wooden  presses  of  the  Sechards,  —  and 
showed  him  the  fine  iron  presses,  twelve  in  number, 
which  did  the  work  at  the  Cointets'  (where  the  only 
wooden  press  was  used  for  proofs),  he  still  took  David's 
part,  and  proudly  declared  in  the  faces  of  his  tormen- 
tors :  "  With  his  old  wooden  presses  my  master  will  do 
greater  things  than  yours  with  all  their  iron  concerns, 
which  turn  out  nothing  but  prayer-books.  He  is  search- 
ing for  a  secret  which  wuU  make  every  printing-house  in 
France  and  Navarre  bow  down  to  him." 

"You  miserable  little  foreman  at  forty  sous  a  da}'," 
the  men  would  answer;  "you've  got  a  washerwoman 
for  your  mistress." 

"Well,  she's  pretty,"  retorted  Ccrizet,  ''and  that's 
better  to  look  at  than  the  black  muzzles  of  your 
masters." 

Such  speeches  as  these  reached  in  time  the  ears  of 
the  Brothers  Cointet ;  they  discovered  the  situation  of 
the  Sechard  business,  learned  of  Eve's  speculation,  and 
judged  it  wise  to  nip  in  the  bud  an  enterprise  which 
might  put  the  poor  woman  in  the  way  of  prosperity. 
"Let's  rap  her  fingers  well  and  disgust  her  with  busi- 
ness," said  the  brothers  to  each  other.  Tlie  one  who 
managed  the  pressroom  met  C^rizet  and  proposed  to 
him  to  read  proofs  for  them  at  so  much  a  proof,  to  re- 
lieve their  corrector  who  found  the  work  too  heavy.  By 
working  several  hours  at  night  Cerizet  earned  more 
from  the  Cointets  than  he  did  from  David  for  his 
day's  work.     Hence  followed  certain  relations  between 


Lost  lUnsions.  191 

the  Cointets  and  Cerizet,  in  whom  the  brothers  saw  good 
faculties,  and  they  openly  pitied  him  for  being  in  a  posi- 
tion so  unfavoraV)le  to  his  interests. 

•'You  might,''  said  one  of  the  Cointets,  "be  foreman 
to  a  large  establishment,  where  you  would  earn  your  six 
francs  a  da}' ;  and  with  3'our  intelligence  you  could 
soon  get  a  share  in  the  business." 

"  What  good  would  it  do  me  to  be  foreman?"  said 
Cerizet.  ''  I  'm  an  orphan,  I  am  part  of  the  contingent 
for  next  year,  and  if  I  am  drawn  who  will  pa}'  for  my 
substitute?  " 

"If  you  made  j'ourself  very  useful,"  replied  the  pros- 
perous printer,  "why  shouldn't  some  one  advance  the 
money  to  free  j'ou?  " 

"  It  would  n't  be  my  master  who  did  that,"  answered 
Cerizet. 

This  remark  was  made  in  a  way  that  raised  the  worst 
thoughts  in  the  mind  of  the  hearer ;  moreover,  Cerizet 
threw  a  glance  at  the  printer  which  was  full  of  ver}" 
searching  inquir}'. 

"I  don't  know  what  he  is  about,"  he  went  on  cau- 
tiousl}',  finding  the  other  silent;  ''but  he  is  not  a  man 
to  look  for  capitals  in  the  lower  case." 

"Look  here,  m}'  friend,"  said  Cointet,  taking  six 
sheets  of  the  Diocesan  pra^'er  book,  "if  you  can  correct 
that  for  us  before  to-morrow  you  shall  have  eighteen 
francs.  We  are  not  ill-natured  ;  we  are  quite  wilhng  to 
let  our  rival's  foreman  earn  a  little  of  our  mone\'.  We 
might  let  Madame  Sechard  ruin  herself  on  that  almanac, 
but  it  is  kinder  to  let  her  know  that  we  are  just  bring- 
ing out  a  '  Shepherds'  Almanac '  of  our  own  ;  you  can 
tell  her  so,  and  warn  her  she  won't  be  first  in  the  field.'* 


192  Lost  lUusiona. 

This  explains  wh}'  Cerizet  was  so  slow  in  setting  up 
the  almanac.  * 

Hearing  that  the  Cointets  were  interfering  with  her 
poor  little  speculation,  Eve  was  seized  with  terror  ;  she 
tried  to  see  a  proof  of  Cerizet's  attachment  in  the  warn- 
ing he  had  given  her  h3'poeritically  ;  but  she  now  detected 
in  her  onl}-  compositor  the  signs  of  a  keen  curiosity. 

"Cerizet,"  she  said  to  him  one  morning,  "you  are 
alwa3's  watching  at  the  door  and  wa3iaying  IMonsieur 
Sechard  in  the  passage,  to  find  out  what  he  is  conceal- 
ing ;  I  have  seen  you  looking  about  the  courtyard  when 
he  leaves  the  workshop  where  he  casts  the  rollers,  in- 
stead of  attending  to  your  own  work.  All  that  is  not 
right,  especially  when  you  see  that  I,  his  wife,  respect 
his  secrets,  and  put  myself  to  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to 
leave  him  free  to  give  himself  up  to  his  occupations.  If 
5'ou  had  not  wasted  so  much  time  the  almanac  would 
now  be  finished,  Kolb  would  have  sold  a  large  number, 
and  the  Cointets  could  not  harm  us." 

"  Eh!  madame,"  replied  Cerizet,  "  for  the  forty  sous 
a  da}'  which  I  earn  here  you  get  a  hundred  sous'  worth 
of  composition  ;  is  n't  that  enough  ?  If  I  had  n't  proofs 
to  read  at  night  for  the  Messieurs  Cointet  I  should  have 
to  live  on  bran." 

"  You  have  learned  to  be  ungrateful  early ;  you  will 
make  your  way  in  life !  '^  replied  Eve,  less  hurt  by 
Cerizet's  rei)roaches  than  by  the  rudeness  of  his  tone 
and  his  threatening  and  aggressive  look  and  attitude. 

"  I  sha'n't  make  it  with  a  woman  over  me,"  he  said, 
insolently,  "  for  then  there  's  more  than  thirty  days  to 
a  month." 

Thus  insulted  in  her  digm'ty  as  a  woman,  Eve  gave 


Lost  Illusions.  193 

Cerizet  a  severe  look  and  returned  to  her  apaiiments. 
When  David  came  to  dinner  she  said  to  him,  ''Are  you 
quite  sure,  my  dear,  of  that  little  scamp  Cerizet?" 

"  Cerizet?  "  he  answered  ;  "  why,  he  "s  my  own  gamin  ; 
I  made  him  myself;  I  taught  him  all  he  knows  ;  he  owes 
everything  he  is  to  me.  You  might  as  well  ask  a  father 
if  he  is  sure  of  his  child." 

Eve  told  her  husband  that  Cerizet  was  reading  proof 
for  the  Cointets  in  the  evening. 

"Poor  boy!  he  has  to  live,"  answered  David,  with 
the  humility  of  a  master  who  feels  himself  to  blame. 

''  Yes,  but,  m}'  friend,  just  see  the  difference  between 
Kolb  and  Cerizet.  Kolb  does  fifty  miles  every  day, 
spends  fifteen  or  twenty-  sous,  and  brings  us  back  seven, 
eight,  sometimes  nine  francs  for  the  leaves  he  sells,  and 
never  asks  me  more  than  one  franc  over  and  above  his 
expenses.  Kolb  would  cut  off  his  hand  sooner  than  pull 
a  single  bar  of  the  Cointets'  presses ;  he  would  never 
rummage  among  the  scraps  you  throw  into  the  court- 
yard if  you  were  to  oflfer  him  a  thousand  francs ; 
whereas  Cerizet  picks  them  up  and  examines  them." 

Noble  souls  find  it  difficult  to  believe  in  evil,  in  in- 
gratitude ;  it  takes  more  than  one  harsh  lesson  to  teach 
them  the  extent  of  human  unworthiness  ;  and  when  their 
education  in  this  line  is  completed  the}'  often  show  an 
indulgence  which  betrays  the  very  last  degree  of  con- 
tempt. 

"Pooh!"  cried  David;  "nothing  more  than  a  ga- 
min's curiosity." 

"Then,  my  dear  friend,  do  me  the  kindness  to  go 
down  into  the  press-room  and  see  the  amount  of  work 
which  your  gamin  has  done  during  the  last  month,  and 

13 


194  Lost  Illusions.   - 

tell  me  whether  he  ought  not  during  that  month  to  have 
finished  our  almanac." 

After  dinner  David  went  down  and  did  admit  that 
the  almanac  ought  to  have  been  finished  in  eight  days. 
Hearing  from  Eve  that  the  Cointets  were  preparing 
one  lilve  it,  he  came  to  the  help  of  his  wife,  stopped 
Kolb's  peddling  of  the  legends,  and  directed  the  press- 
room himself.  He  got  ever3'thing  in  readiness  for  one 
form,  which  Kolb  and  Marion  were  to  work  off,  while 
he  himself,  with  Cerizet,  did  the  other,  carefully  over- 
looking the  impressions,  that  were  in  inks  of  diverse 
colors.  Each  color  required  a  separate  impression. 
Four  different  inks  took  four  impressions.  Printed 
four  times  for  one,  the  "  Shepherds'  Almanac  "  costs 
so  much  to  bring  out  that  it  is  made  in  provincial 
printing-houses  only,  where  hand-work  and  the  interest 
of  capital  used  in  the  printing-business  are  of  little 
account.  This  production,  coarse  as  it  is,  is  impos- 
sible for  the  great  printing-houses  which  bring  out  fine 
works. 

For  the  first  time  since  old  Sechard's  retirement  two 
presses  were  steadil}'  at  work  in  the  old  press-room. 
Though  the  almanac  was,  in  its  way,  a  masterpiece, 
Eve  felt  obliged  to  sell  it  for  two  farthings,  because  the 
Cointets  were  selling  theirs  to  the  peddlers  at  three 
centimes ;  she  paid  for  the  peddling,  and  earned  on  the 
sales  made  by  Kolb ;  but  the  speculation  was  a  failure. 

Cerizet,  seenig  that  his  mistress  distrusted  him,  be- 
came in  his  heart  her  enemy.  He  said  to  himself, 
''You  susi)ect  me  J  I  will  revenge  myself."  That  is 
the  ganiin  of  Paris.  He  therefore  accepted  emoluments 
from  the  Cointet  Brothers  which  were  evidently  larger 


Lost  Illusions.  195 

than  his  proper  pa}-  for  correcting  the  proofs,  which  he 
fetched  ever}'  evening  from  tlieir  office  and  returned 
in  the  morning.  By  talking  with  the  brothers  daily, 
he  grew  familiar  with  them,  and  ended  by  perceiving 
his  chance,  which  was  held  out  to  him  as  a  bait,  of 
escaping  military  service.  Instead  of  having  to  corrupt 
him,  the  Cointets  did,  in  fact,  receive  from  him  the  first 
suggestion  as  to  spying  for  the  secret  of  which  David 
was  in  search.  Uneasy  at  seeing  how  little  she  could 
rely  on  Cerizet,  and  unable  to  find  another  Kolb,  Eve 
resolved  to  dismiss  her  only  compositor,  in  whom  her 
second  sight,  that  of  a  loving  woman,  detected  treach- 
ery ;  but  as  such  an  act  would  be  the  death  of  the 
establishment,  she  determined  to  take  an  heroic  course. 
She  sent  to  Metivier,  David's  correspondent  in  Paris, 
also  that  of  the  Cointets  and  of  other  paper-makers  in 
the  department,  the  following  notice,  requesting  him  to 
insert  it  in  the  "  PubUshers'  Journal "  of  Paris  :  — 

*'  For  sale,  a  printing-house,  in  active  operation,  with 
material  and  license,  situated  in  Angoulerae.  Address,  for 
terms  of  sale,  Monsieur  Me'tivier,  rue  Serpente." 

When  the  Cointets  read  the  number  of  the  Journal 
which  contained  this  notice,  they  said  to  each  other : 
"That  little  woman  has  got  a  head;  we  had  better 
now  get  possession  of  her  printing-house,  and  give 
her  enough  to  live  on  ;  otherwise,  we  shall  have  some 
competitor  in  Sechard's  place  who  will  give  us  trouble." 
Prompted  by  that  thought,  the  Cointets  went  to  talk 
with  David  Sechard  and  his  wife.  Eve,  whom  they 
first  met,  felt  the  keenest  joy  as  she  saw  the  instanta- 
neous eff'ect  of  her  ruse,  for  they  made  no  secret  of  their 


196  Lost  Illusions, 

wish  that  Monsieur  Sechard  should  carry  on  the  busi- 
ness for  them  ;  the}'  were  overrun  with  work,  they  suid  ; 
their  own  presses  did  not  suffice ;  they  had  workmen 
coming  from  Bordeaux,  and  could  manage  David's 
three  presses  as  well  as  their  own. 

'^  Gentlemen,"  said  Eve,  while  Cerizet  had  gone  to 
summon  David,  "1113'  husband  knew  excellent  work- 
men when  he  was  at  the  Didots',  and  he  can  no  doubt 
find  a  successor  among  the  best  of  them.  It  would  be 
better  for  us  to  sell  the  establishment  for  twenty  thou- 
sand francs,  which  would  give  us  an  income  of  a  thou- 
sand fi'ancs  to  live  on,  than  to  lose  a  thousand  a  year 
through  you.  Why  did  you  envy  us  that  poor  little 
speculation  of  the  almanac,  which,  after  all,  belonged 
b}^  right  to  this  office  ?  " 

"  Ah,  madame,  why  did  you  not  let  us  know  that? 
*We  would  certainly  not  have  interfered  with  you,"  said 
the  brother  who  was  known  as  •'  the  tall  Cointet," 
graciously. 

"  Excuse  me,  gentlemen,  but  you  did  not  undertake 
3'our  almanac  until  after  Cerizet  told  you  I  was  making 
mine." 

Uttering  the  words  sharply,  she  looked  straight  at 
the  tall  Cointet,  and  made  him  lower  his  eyes.  She 
thus  obtained  good  proof  of  Cerizet's  treachery. 

The  tall  Cointet,  the  manager  of  the  paper-making 
department  and  the  financial  alTairs  of  the  house,  was  a 
far  more  able  man  of  business  than  liis  brother  Jean, 
who,  however,  managed  the  printing-office  with  much 
intelligen(!e,  though  his  capacity  might  be  compared  to 
that  of  a  colonel,  while  the  tail  Cointet,  named  Boni- 
face,  was    the    general   in  whom  Jean   recognized  his 


Lost  Illusions.  197 

commander-in-chief.  Boniface,  lean  and  lank,  with  a 
■wax-like,  3'ellow  face  marbled  with  red  splashes,  pinched 
lips,  and  eyes  like  those  of  a  cat,  was  never  angry  ;  he 
could  listen  with  the  calmness  of  a  saint  to  the  worst 
insults,  and  reply  to  them  in  gentle  tones.  He  went  to 
mass,  confessed,  and  took  the  sacrament.  Beneath  his 
ingratiating  manner  and  his  outward  man,  which  was 
almost  effeminate,  lay  the  tenacit}'  and  the  ambition  of 
a  priest,  and  the  greed  of  a  merchant  thirsting  for  riches 
and  honors.  From  the  3-ear  1820  the  tall  Cointet 
sought  what  the  bourgeoisie  obtained  in  1830.  Filled 
with  hatred  to  the  aristocracy,  indifferent  in  matters  of 
religion,  he  was  pious  precisely  as  Bonaparte  was  demo- 
cratic. His  spinal  column  bent  with  marvellous  flexi- 
bility before  the  nobility  and  the  governing  powers,  to 
whom  he  made  himself  humble,  complying,  and  of  no 
account.  To  picture  this  man  b}'  a  single  stroke,  the* 
meaning  of  which  will  be  appreciated  b}'  those  who  are 
in  the  habit  of  doing  business,  he  always  wore  blue 
spectacles,  behind  which  he  hid  his  glances,  under  pre- 
tence of  saving  his  e3'es  from  the  glare  of  a  town  where 
all  the  buildings  are  white  and  the  intensity  of  light  is 
increased  by  the  great  elevation  of  the  ground.  Though 
his  height  was  not  much  above  the  medium,  he  seemed 
very  tall  because  of  his  leanness,  which  told  of  a  pli}-- 
sical  condition  worn  down  b}'  fatigue  and  a  mental 
state  of  continual  fermentation.  The  Jesuitical  expres- 
sion of  his  countenance  was  made  complete  by  long, 
gra}'  hair,  straight  and  flattened  down  and  cut  after  the 
fashion  of  an  ecclesiastic's,  and  by  his  clothing,  which 
for  the  last  seven  years  had  consisted  of  black  trousers, 
black  stockings,  black  waistcoat,  and  a  "  levite  "   (the 


198  Lost  Illusions. 

name  given  in  the  south  of  France  to  a  frock-coat)  of 
brown  cloth.  He  was  called  "  the  tall  Cointet,"  to  dis- 
tinguish him  from  his  brother,  who  was  called  "the 
stout  Cointet,"  thus  expressing  the  difference  of  the 
shapes  and  capacities  of  the  two  brothers,  who,  in  other 
respects,  were  equally  matched. 

Jean  Cointet,  a  good-natured,  stout  fellow  with  a 
Flemish  face,  browned  by  a  southern  sun,  short  and 
paunchy  like  Sancho,  broad-shouldered,  and  with  a  smile 
upon  his  lips,  produced  a  striking  contrast  to  his  elder 
brother.  Jean  differed  from  Boniface  not  only  in  ap- 
pearance and  mind,  but  he  also  professed  opinions  that 
were  almost  radical,  belonged  to  the  "  Left-centre," 
never  went  to  mass  except  on  Sundays,  and  was  on  the 
best  of  terms  with  all  the  Liberal  merchants.  The  tali 
Cointet  made  clever  use  of  the  apparent  good-humor  of 
his  brother  ;  he  made  a  club  of  him.  Jean  was  charged 
with  all  the  hard  words,  injunctions,  and  distrainings, 
which  were  repugnant  to  the  effeminate  mildness  of  his 
brother.  Jean  had  the  department  of  temper ;  he  got 
angry,  blurted  out  impossible  proposals  which  made 
those  of  his  brother  seem  more  acceptable  ;  and  thus 
they  attained,  sooner  or  later,  their  own  ends. 

Eve,  with  the  natural  tact  of  a  woman,  had  perceived 
the  role  of  the  two  brothers,  and  she  stood  on  her  guard 
in  presence  of  such  dangerous  adversaries.  David,  who 
knew  of  the  -whole  matter  from  his  wife,  listened  with 
an  abstracted  air  to  tlie  proposals  of  his  enemies. 

*'  Settle  it  with  my  wife,"  he  s^id  after  a  while,  to 
the  two  Cointets,  leaving  the  ollice  to  return  to  his 
little  laboratoiy.  ''  She  knows  more  about  the  printing- 
house  than   1   do   myself;  1   am   busy  with   something 


Lost  Illusions.  199 

which  will  turn  out  far  more  lucrative  than  this  poor 
business,  b}'  means  of  which  I  shall  recover  out  of  you 
the  losses  T  have  met  with." 

"  How  so?  "  said  the  stout  Cointet,  laughing. 

Eve  looked  at  her  husband  as  if  warning  him  to  be 
cautious. 

"You  will  be  my  dependants,  —  you  and  all  others 
who  want  paper,"  replied  David. 

*'  What  do  you  expect  to  discover?  "  asked  Boniface. 

When  he  asked  the  question  in  his  soft,  insinuating 
tones,  Eve  again  looked  at  her  husband  to  advise  him 
not  to  answer,  or  to  answer  something  that  told  nothing. 

"  I  expect  to  discover  a  way  to  manufacture  paper  at 
fift}'  per  cent  below  the  present  price." 

So  saving  David  went  off,  without  observing  the 
glance  exchanged  by  the  two  brothers.  "The  man 
must  be  an  inventor ;  he  could  n't  have  his  build  and 
be  idle  !  Let  us  get  this  secret  out  of  him,"  said  the 
glance  of  Boniface.     "  How?  "  said  that  of  Jean. 

"David  treats  you  as  he  does  me,"  said  Madame 
Sechard.  "  When  I  am  inquisitive  he  is  afraid  of  my 
name,  and  gives  me  some  such  reply  as  that,  which  is 
onl}'  evasion." 

"  If  3'our  husband  can  carry  out  that  scheme  he  will 
certainh'  make  his  fortune  more  rapidly  than  he  could 
by  a  printing  house,  and  I  am  not  surprised  that  he 
neglects  his  business,"  said  Boniface,  looking  into  the 
press-room,  where  Kolb,  seated  on  a  wetting-board,  was 
rubbing  his  dry  bread  with  a  clove  of  garlic  ;  "  but  it 
won't  suit  us  to  see  this  estabhshment  in  the  hands  of 
an  active,  busy,  ambitious  competitor,  and  therefore, 
madame,  perhaps  we  can  come  to  some  agreement.    For 


200  Lost  Illusions. 

instance,  would  yon  lease  your  plant  for  a  certain  sum 
to  one  of  our  men,  who  would  do  the  work  for  us  in  your 
name,  as  is  often  the  case  in  Paris?  We  would  give 
this  man  sufficient  work  to  enable  him  to  pa}'  you  a 
good  rent  and  make  some  little  profit  for  himself." 

"That  would  depend  on  the  sum  offered,"  said  Eve. 
"  What  will  you  give  ?"  she  added,  looking  at  Boniface, 
in  a  manner  which  let  him  know  that  she  saw  through 
his  scheme. 

"What  do  you  want?  '^  said  Jean,  quickly. 

"Three  thousand  francs  for  six  months,"  replied 
Eve. 

"  M}'  dear  lady,  30U  talked  just  now  of  selling  the 
whole  place  for  twenty  thousand  francs,"  said  Boniface, 
gentl}'.  "The  interest  of  twenty  thousand  francs  is 
only  twelve  hundred." 

P>e  was  confounded  for  a  moment,  and  saw  the  im- 
portance of  discretion  in  business. 

"But  you  will  use  our  presses  and  type,  with  which, 
as  I  have  proved,  a  good  deal  can  be  made,"  she  said ; 
"  and  we  have  the  rent  to  pay  to  old  Monsieur  Sechard, 
who  does  not  burden  us  with  gifts." 

After  a  struggle  of  two  hours  Eve  obtained  a  rental 
of  two  thousand  francs  for  six  montlis,  of  which  one 
thousand  was  to  be  paid  in  advance.  After  the  agree- 
ment was  made  the  brothers  informed  her  that  it  was 
their  intention  to  give  Cerizet  the  lease  of  the  utensils, 
pjve  could  not  restrain  a  movement  of  surprise. 

"It  IS  much  better  to  put  in  some  one  who  under- 
stands your  presses,"  said  the  stout  Cointet. 

Eve  bowed,  but  made  no  answer,  resolving  to  watch 
Cerizet  carefully. 


Lost  Illusions.  201 

*'  Well,  so  our  enemies  step  into  our  shoes !  "  said 
David,  laughing,  when  she  gave  him  at  dinner-time  the 
deeds  to  sign. 

"  Bah!  "  she  said;  "  I  '11  answer  for  the  devotion  of 
Kolb  and  Marion  ;  they  two  will  watcli  our  interests. 
Besides,  we  are  getting  four  thousand  francs  a  year  for 
a  plant  wiiich  was  only  costing  us  mone}-,  and  I  see  a 
whole  year  before  30U  in  which  to  realize  your  hopes." 

"  You  were  born  to  be,  as  you  told  me  that  night  by 
the  river,  the  wife  of  an  inventor,"  said  David,  pressing 
his  wife's  hand  tenderl}'. 

Though  the  inventor  now  had  a  sum  of  money  suffi- 
cient to  carry  him  through  the  winter,  he  soon  found 
himself  closel}'  watched  by  Cerizet ;  and  he  was,  although 
he  did  not  know  it,  at  the  mercy  of  the  Cointets. 

"We've  got  them!"  said  the  tall  Cointet  to  his 
brother,  as  the}'  left  the  establishment.  "  Those  foolish 
people  will  get  accustomed  to  receiving  rent ;  the}'  will 
advance  on  it  and  make  debts.  In  six  months  we  '11  re- 
fuse to  continue  the  lease,  and  then  we  "11  see  what  that 
genius  has  got  in  his  pouch.  If  it  is  worth  anything  we 
will  propose  to  help  him  out  of  his  difficulties,  on  condi- 
tion that  he  agrees  to  make  us  partners  in  the  sale  of 
his  discovery." 

If  any  clever  dealer  had  seen  the  tall  Cointet  as  he 
uttered  the  words  "  make  us  jycirtners^''  he  would  have 
felt  that  the  dangers  of  marriage  are  less  before  the 
mayor  than  before  the  courts  of  commerce. 

Was  it  not  enough,  and  too  much,  that  these  ferocious 
hunters  were  scenting  their  game?  Were  David  and 
his  wife,  witli  tlie  sole  help  of  Kolb  and  Marion,  in  a 
position  to  resist  tlie  schemes  of  a  Boniface  Cointet? 


202  Lost  Illusions. 


11. 


.      THE    FIRST   THUNDER- CLAP. 

About  the  time  of  Madame  Sechard's  confinement 
came  a  note  of  five  hundred  francs  from  Lucien,  which, 
added  to  Cerizet's  second  pa3'ment,  suflSced  for  all  ex- 
penses. Eve  and  her  mother  and  David,  who  had 
thought  themselves  forgotten  b}'  Lucien,  were  filled 
with  jo}'  on  receiving  his  letters  confirming  his  first 
successes  in  journalism,  the  reports  of  which  made  as 
much  noise  in  Angouleme  as  the}'  had  in  Paris. 

Lulled  into  false  security,  David  shook  in  every  limb 
when  he  received  from  his  brother-in-law  the  following 
cruel  letter :  — 

My  dear  David,  —  I  have  negotiated  with  ]Metivier  three 
notes  for  a  thousand  francs  each,  which  I  signed  in  your 
name  to  my  order.  They  fall  due  at  one,  two,  and  three 
months'  sight.  I  had  no  choice  between  that  and  suicide  ;  I 
was  forced  to  choose  this  horrible  resource,  which  I  know 
will  hamper  you  terribly.  I  will  explain  to  you  later  the 
position  in  which  I  am  ;  and  I  will  try  to  send  you  funds  to 
meet  the  notes  when  due. 

Burn  my  letter,  and  say  nothing  to  my  sister  or  my  mother ; 
I  own  to  having  counted  on  your  heroism,  which  1  know  so 
well. 

Your  despairing  brother, 

Ll'CIKX    I)K    Kl  HKMI'Kl';. 


Lost  Illusions.  203 

"Your  poor  brother,"  said  David  to  his  wife,  who 
was  just  getting  up  from  her  confinement,  "  is  in  great 
straits  ;  I  have  sent  iiim  three  notes  of  a  thousand 
francs  each,  payable  in  one,  two,  and  three  months. 
Write  it  down." 

Then  he  left  the  room  to  avoid  the  explanations  his 
wife  was  about  to  ask.  But  Eve,  who  had  been  made 
ver}'  anxious  by  Lucien's  previous  silence  of  more  than 
six  months,  felt  such  painful  presentiments  after  talk- 
ing with  her  mother  about  David's  speech,  that  she 
resolved  to  take  one  of  those  steps  which  are  often 
prompted  by  extreme  anxiety.  Monsieur  Eugene  de 
Rastignac  was  then  in  the  neighborhood  of  Angouleme, 
spending  a  few  days  with  his  family,  and  he  had  spoken 
of  Lucien  in  sufficient!}'  ill  terms  for  his  remarks,  carried 
from  mouth  to  mouth,  to  reach  the  ears  of  the  mother 
and  sister  of  the  new  journalist.  Eve  went  to  Madame 
de  Rastignac  and  asked  the  favor  of  an  interview  with 
her  son,  to  whom  she  told  her  fears,  asking  him  to  tell 
her  the  exact  truth  as  to  Lucien's  situation  in  Paris. 
From  him  she  heard  the  circumstances  of  Lucien's  life, 
exaggerated  b}'  the  witt\'  dandy,  who  gave  a  covering  of 
pity  to  his  dislike  and  env}',  taking  a  tone  of  friendl}' 
alarm  about  the  future  of  a  compatriot  whose  talents 
he  said  he  admired  sincerelv,  and  who  was  now  so  pain- 
fully compromised.  He  spoke  of  the  great  faults  Lucien 
had  committed  ;  faults  which  had  cost  him  the  protec- 
tion of  great  personages  and  the  gift  of  a  royal  ordi- 
nance conferring  upon  him  the  right  to  take  the  arms 
and  name  of  de  Ruhompre. 

"Madame,"  said  Eugene  de  Rastignac,  "if  your 
brother  had  listened  to  good  advice  he  would  to-day 


204  Lost  Illusions. 

have  been  on  the  high  road  to  fortune  and  the  husband 
of  Madame  de  Bargeton,  who  is  now  a  widow.  But 
instead  of  that,  he  chose  to  insult  and  desert  her.  She 
loved  Lucien,  but  she  will  now  become  Madame  Sixte 
du  Chatelet,  to  her  great  regret." 

"  Is  it  possible?"  exclaimed  Madame  Sechard. 

''  Your  brother,  madame,  is  an  eaglet,  blinded  b}' 
the  first  ra3-s  of  luxury-  and  fame  that  have  dazzled  him. 
When  an  eagle  falls,  who  knows  the  depths  to  which  he 
sinks?  The  fall  of  a  great  man  is  always  in  proportion 
to  the  height  he  has  attained." 

Eve  returned  home  terrified  b}'  this  last  sentence 
which  went  to  her  heart  like  an  arrow.  Wounded  in 
the  tenderest  part  of  her  soul,  she  nevertheless  kept 
silence  ;  but  more  than  one  tear  rolled  silentlj'  on  the 
cheeks  and  forehead  of  the  child  she  was  nursing  at 
her  breast.  It  is  so  difficult  to  renounce  the  illusions 
which  familj'  love  justifies,  and  which  are  a  part  of  life 
itself,  that  Eve  distrusted  Eugene  de  Rastignac ;  she 
wanted  the  opinion  of  a  true  friend.  In  one  of  his 
earh'  letters  Lucien  had  given  her  the  address  of  Daniel 
d'Arthez,  of  whom  he  spoke  with  groat  enthusiasm. 
To  him  Eve  wrote  a  touching  letter,  and  this  is  the  an- 
swer she  received :  — 

Madame,  — You  ask  me  to  tell  you  the  truth  about  the 
life  which  your  brother  is  leading  in  Paris ;  you  wish  to  be 
enlightened  as  to  his  prospects ;  and  in  order  to  induce  me 
to  answer  you  frankly,  you  tell  me  what  M.  de  Kastignac 
has  said  to  you,  and  you  ask  nie  if  such  and  such  thuigs  are 
true. 

In  all  that  relates  to  myself,  niadanie,  I  must  in  justice  to 
Lucien  rectify  some  of  M.  de  Ilastignac's  statements.     Your 


Lost  Illusions.  205 

brother  expressed  to  me  great  remorse  for  his  conduct.  I 
accepted  his  regrets  and  understood  his  position.  You  ask 
me  if  Lucien  still  retains  my  friendship  and  esteem.  There 
indeed,  the  answer  is  more  difficult  to  make.  Your  brother 
is  entering  a  career  in  which  he  will  be  ruined.  At  the  pres- 
ent moment  I  pity  him  sincerely ;  before  long  I  shall  wil- 
lingly forget  him,  —  not  so  much  for  what  he  has  done  as  for 
that  which  he  will  then  do. 

Lucien  is  a  poetical  being,  but  not  a  poet ;  he  dreams,  and 
does  not  think;  he  is  emotional,  not  creative.  In  short,  if 
you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  he  is  effeminate,  he  likes  to  pose 
—  the  vice  of  Frenchmen.  Lucien  will  always  sacrifice  his 
best  friend  for  the  pleasure  of  exhibiting  his  wit.  He  would 
willingly  sign  a  compact  with  the  devil  if  it  would  give  him 
a  few  years  of  a  brilliant  and  luxurious  existence.  He  has 
already  done  so  by  bartering  his  future  for  the  passing  de- 
lights of  his  life  with  an  actress.  Just  now,  the  youth  and 
beauty  and  devotion  of  that  woman,  who  really  loves  him, 
prevents  him  from  seeing  the  dangers  of  his  situation,  which 
neither  fame,  nor  success,  nor  fortune,  will  make  the  world 
accept. 

No,  at  every  fresh  temptation  your  brother  will  only  see, 
as  he  does  to-day,  the  pleasures  of  the  moment.  But  there  is 
one  thing  about  which  you  may  rest  assured  :  Lucien  will 
never  commit  crime ;  he  has  not  the  force ;  but  he  will  accept 
a  crime  that  has  been  committed,  and  share  its  profits,  though 
he  did  not  share  its  dangers.  This  seems  horrible  to  every 
one,  even  to  scoundrels.  He  will  despise  himself,  he  will  re- 
pent, but  whenever  the  occasion  returns  he  will  do  the  same 
thing  over  again,  —  for  will  is  lacking  to  him ;  he  is  without 
strength  against  the  allurements  of  pleasure,  or  against  the 
satisfaction  of  his  minor  ambitions.  Lazy,  like  all  poetic 
natures,  he  thinks  himself  clever  in  shu'king  difficulties  in- 
stead of  facing  them.  He  might  have  courage  at  one  mo- 
ment, at  the  next  he  would  be  a  coward ;  and  he  deserves  as 
little  praise  for  his  courage  as  blame  for  his  cowardice. 


206  Lost  Illusions. 

Lucien  is  a  harp,  the  strings  of  which  tighten  or  stretch  ac- 
cording to  the  variations  of  his  atmosphere.  He. might  write 
a  fine  book  in  a  phase  of  happiness  or  anger,  and  not  be  con- 
scious afterwards  of  its  success,  much  as  he  desired  it. 

When  Lucien  first  arrived  in  Paris  he  fell  into  the  hands 
of  a  young  man  without  any  morality  whatever,  but  whose 
success  and  experience  in  the  difficulties  of  a  literary  life  daz- 
zled him.  This  juggler  has  completely  seduced  Lucien;  he 
has  led  him  into  an  unmanly  life,  over  which,  unfortunately 
for  him,  love  has  cast  its  glamour.  To  bestow  admiration 
too  readily  is  a  sign  of  weakness ;  the  poet  and  the  acrobat 
should  not  be  paid  in  the  same  coin.  We  have  all  been 
wounded  by  the  preference  Lucien  has  shown  for  literary 
intrigue  and  knavery  over  the  courage  and  morality  of  those 
who  advised  him  to  face  the  struggle  rather  than  filch  suc- 
cess ;  to  fling  himself  into  the  arena  instead  of  becoming  a 
mere  trumpet  in  the  orchestra. 

Society,  madame,  is,  oddly  enough,  extremely  indulgent  to 
young  men  of  this  nature ;  it  likes  them ;  it  is  won  by  the 
noble  semblance  of  their  outward  gifts ;  from  them,  society 
asks  nothing ;  it  excuses  all  their  faults,  grants  them  the 
merit  of  matured  natures,  and  treats  them,  in  short,  like 
petted  darlings.  By  such  conduct  society,  so  violently  unjust 
in  appearance,  is  perhaps  righteous.  It  finds  amusement  in 
buffoons ;  asks  them  for  pleasm'e  only,  and  then  forgets  them  ; 
whereas,  before  it  bows  the  knee  to  greatness  it  demands 
divine  credentials.  To  all  things  their  own  law  :  the  inde- 
structible diamond  must  be  without  a  flaw;  the  ephemeral 
creation  of  a  fashion  has  a  riglit  to  be  flimsy,  fanciful,  and 
without  consistence.  Therefore,  in  spite  of  his  mistakes, 
Lucien  may  succeed  in  his  own  way;  he  may  put  to  profit 
some  happy  vein,  or  find  himself  among  good  connections. 
But  if  he  sliould  fall  into  the  hands  of  an  evil  angel  he  will 
go  to  the  dej)ths  of  hell.  lie  is  a  brilliant  assemblage  of 
splendid  qualities  embroidered  on  too  thin  a  material;  time 
will  wear  away  the  flowers,  the  tissue  alone  will  remain  ;  if 


Lost  Illusions.  207 

worthless,  it  is  nougiit  but  rags.  As  long  as  Lucien  is  young 
he  will  please ;  but  when  he  is  thirty  what  position  will  he 
hold  ?  That  is  the  question  which  all  those  who  sincerely 
love  him  ought  to  consider. 

If  I  were  alone  in  judging  thus  of  Lucien  I  might,  per- 
haps, have  refrained  from  grieving  you  by  my  sincerity ;  but 
not  only  do  I  think  it  unfaithful  to  you  (whose  letter  is  a 
cry  of  anguish)  to  evade  your  questions  by  mere  common- 
places, but  all  my  friends  who  have  known  Lucien  are  unan- 
imous in  this  judgment  on  him.  I  have  therefore  regarded 
it  in  the  light  of  "a  duty  to  tell  the  truth,  however  terrible 
it  may  seem  to  you.  Anything  and  ever\i;hing  may  be  ex- 
pected of  Lucien,  either  for  good  or  for  evil.  Such  is  our 
opinion ;  and  I  give  it  to  you  thus  formulated  in  a  single 
sentence.  If  the  chances  of  his  life,  which  is  now  very 
miserable,  very  uncertain,  should  bring  him  back  to  you,  use 
all  your  influence  to  keep  him  in  the  bosom  of  his  family ; 
for  until  his  character  has  acquired  some  firmness  Paris  will 
always  be  dangerous  for  him.  He  called  you  —  your  husband 
and  yom'self  —  his  guardian  angels,  and  yet  he  has  doubtless 
forgotten  you;  but  he  will  bethink  himseK  of  you  whenever, 
battered  by  the  storm,  he  has  no  other  shelter  than  his  fam- 
ily. Keep  him,  therefore,  in  your  heart,  for  he  will  need 
that  haven. 

Accept,  madame,  the  sincere  esteem  of  a  man  to  whom 
your  precious  qualities  are  know^n,  and  who  respects  your 
sisterly  anxiety  too  much  not  to  render  prompt  obedience  to 
your  wishes,  subscribing  himself 

Youi'  devoted  servant, 

D'Arthes. 

Two  days  after  reading  this  letter  Eve  was  obliged 
to  take  a  wet-nurse  ;  her  milk  dried  up.  After  making 
a  demigod  of  her  brother,  she  saw  him  depraved 
through  the  exercise  of  his  noblest  faculties.     To  her 


208  Lost  Illusio7is. 

mind,  he  was  wallowing  in  the  mire.  This  noble 
creature  knew  not  how  to  compromise  with  integrity, 
with  delicac}',  with  all  the  domestic  faiths  of  the  family 
hearth,  which  shine  with  so  pure  a  lustre  in  the  depths 
of  the  provinces.  David  had  been  right  in  his  fore- 
bodings. When  this  grief,  which  cast  its  leaden 
shadows  on  that  white  brow,  was  confided  by  Eve  to 
her  husband  in  one  of  those  limpid  conversations  in 
which  two  married  lovers  sa}-  all  things  to  each  other, 
David  replied  to  her  with  comforting  words.  Though 
the  tears  came  into  his  eyes  when  he  knew  that  his 
wife's  sweet  breast  was  dried  with  grief  and  when  he 
saw  her  despair  in  no  longer  being  able  to  nurse  her 
child,  he  reassured  her  mind  and  gave  her  several 
grounds  of  hope. 

"  Don't  you  see,  dear,  that  your  brother  has  gone 
wrong  through  his  imagination?  It  is  so  natural  to  a 
poet  to  long  for  his  mantle  of  purple  and  azure  ;  he 
seeks  the  games  with  such  eagerness.  Tiiis  bird  of 
ours  is  caught  by  glitter,  b^-  luxury,  in  such  simple 
good  faith  that  God  will  pardon  where  society  con- 
demns." 

"  But  he  will  ruin  us  !  "  cried  the  poor  wife. 

"To-day  he  does,  but  a  few  months  ago  he  sent  us 
the  first  fruits  of  his  earnings,"  replied  the  good  David, 
who  had  the  sense  to  know  that  despair  was  leading  liis 
wife  beyond  reason,  and  that  her  love  for  Lucien  would 
soon  rea[)pear.  "  Mercier  said  about  fifty  years  ago,  in 
his  ••  Tableau  dc  Paris  '  that  literature,  poesy,  lett<>rs, 
and  science,  in  short,  the  creations  of  the  brain,  could 
not  support  a  man  ;  and  Lucien,  in  his  capacity  as  a 
poet,  has  chosen  to  disbelieve  in  the  experience  of  five 


Lost  Illusions.  209 

centuries.  The  harvests  irrigated  by  ink  are  never 
gathered  for  ten  or  a  dozen  years  after  sowing,  if  indeed 
they  ever  are  gathered  ;  Lucien  has  mistaken  the  herb 
for  the  sheaf.  He  will  at  an}'  rate  have  learned  life. 
After  being  the  dupe  of  a  woman,  he  has  now  been  the 
dupe  of  society  and  false  friendships.  The  experience 
he  has  earned  has  been  dearly  paid  for,  that 's  all.  Our 
ancestors  used  to  say:  'Provided  our  son  comes  back 
with  both  ears  and  his  honor  safe  all  is  well.' " 

^'  Honor  !  "  cried  poor  Eve.  *'  Alas,  how  man}^  vir- 
tues Lucien  has  lost !  To  write  against  his  conscience  ! 
to  attack  his  best  friend !  to  accept  the  money  of  an 
actress  !  To  be  seen  in  public  with  her  !  to  wring  our 
last  penny  from  us  !  — " 

"Ah!  that  is  nothing!"  cried  David;  then  he 
checked  himself;  the  secret  of  Lucien's  forgery  was 
about  to  escape  him.  Unfortunately  Eve,  who  noticed 
his  manner,  was  seized  with  vague  anxiet}'. 

"Nothing!"  she  exclaimed.  "How  shall  we  ever 
pay  that  three  thousand  francs  ?  " 

"  In  the  first  place,'^  replied  David,  •'  we  shall  renew 
the  lease  for  the  printing-room  with  Cerizet.  For  the 
last  six  months  the  fifteen  per  cent  profit  which  the 
Cointets  allowed  him  on  the  work  done  for  them  has 
given  him  six  hundred  francs,  and  he  has  earned  five 
hundred  b}"  outside  work  he  obtained  from  others." 

"  If  the  Cointets  find  that  out  they  may  not  be  wil- 
ling to  renew  the  lease  ;  they  will  be  afraid  of  him," 
said  Eve  ;  "  for  Cerizet  is  a  dangerous  man." 

"Well,  what  does  it  signify?"  said  David.     "In  a 

few  weeks  we  shall  be  rich !  and  as  soon  as  Lucien  is 

rich,  mv  dear  love,  he  will  be  virtuous." 

14 


210  Lost  Illusions. 

"Ah!  David,  my  friend,  m}-  friend,  what  a  saving 
you  have  allowed  to  escape  you !  You  mean  that 
Lucien  in  the  depths  of  poverty  has  no  will  or  strength 
against  evil !  You  think  of  him  as  Monsieur  d'  Arthez 
thinks  of  him.  There  is  no  superiority  without  force  of 
character,  and  Lucien  is  weak, —  an  angel  who  must 
not  be  tempted  ;  is  not  that  ^our  idea  of  him ? " 

*'  Well,  his  nature  is  fine  in  its  own  sphere  onh',  its 
own  heaven.  Lucien  is  not  made  to  struggle —  I  will 
spare  him  a  struggle.  My  dear  Eve,  see  I  I  am  too 
near  mj'  great  result  not  to  show  you  this."  He  pulled 
from  his  pocket  several  sheets  of  paper  of  the  size 
called  in-octavo,  waved  them  triumphantly  over  his 
head,  and  laid  them  on  his  wife's  knee.  "  See  !  a  ream 
of  paper,  royal  form,  won't  cost  more  than  five  francs," 
he  said,  making  Eve  finger  his  samples,  which  she  did 
with  childhke  surprise. 

"Dear,  dear!  how  did  3'ou  succeed  in  making  it?" 
she  said. 

"  With  an  old  hair  sieve  I  got  from  Marion,"  he 
answered. 

"Are  not  3'ou  satisfied  yet?"  she  asked. 

"  The  question  now  is  not  the  means  of  manufacture, 
but  the  net  cost  of  the  pulp.  Alas !  ni}-  child,  I  have 
only  just  entered  upon  that  diflicult  matter.  In  1794 
Madame  Masson  tried  to  convert  printed  paper  into 
white  paper,  and  she  succeeded  —  at  a  monstrous  cost. 
In  England,  about  the  year  1800,  the  Marquis  of  Salis- 
bury' attempted,  as  Seguin  did  in  France  in  1801,  to 
use  straw  in  the  manufacture  of  paper.  Our  native 
reed,  the  arundo  phrcuimltis^  furnished  the  paper  you 
hold  in  your  hand.     But  I  am  going  to  try  nettles,  and 


Lost  Illusions.  211 

thistles  ;  for  in  order  to  keep  down  the  cost  of  the 
fundamental  material  I  must  relj'  on  vegetai)le  sub- 
stances which  grow  in  marshes  and  waste  lands  ;  the}-, 
of  course,  cost  little.  M3'  whole  secret  lies  in  a  prepar- 
ation which  I  appl}-  to  these  substances.  At  present, 
the  process  is  not  enough  simplified.  However,  in  spite 
of  this  difficult}',  I  am  certain  to  confer  a  benefit  on  the 
manufacture  of  paper  in  France  by  which  all  literature 
will  profit ;  I  shall  make  it  a  monopoly  of  our  countr}', 
as  iron,  pit-coal,  and  earthenware  are  monopolies  of 
England.    I  mean  to  be  the  Jacquart  of  paper-making." 

Eve  rose,  moved  to  enthusiasm  and  admiration  by 
David's  single-heartedness  ;  she  opened  her  arms  to 
him  and  pressed  him  to  her  heart,  laying  her  head  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"  You  reward  me  as  though  I  had  really  succeeded," 
he  said. 

For  all  answer,  Eve  showed  her  sweet  face  wet  with 
tears,  and  was  silent  for  a  moment,  unable  to  speak. 

"  I  am  not  kissing  the  man  of  genius,''  she  ^aid,  ''  but 
my  comforter.  In  place  of  a  fallen  glory  3'ou  show  me 
a  rising  one.  You  soften  the  grief  I  feel  at  my 
brother's  degradation  by  the  knowledge  of  my  hus- 
band's grandeur.  Yes,  you  will  be  great  I — great  as 
the  Graindorges,  the  Rouvets,  the  van  Robais  ;  as  the 
Persian  who  discovered  madder ;  as  all  those  men  of 
whom  3'ou  have  told  me,  whose  names  remain  obscure 
because  in  bringing  an  industry  to  perfection  they  did 
great  benefit  to  the  world  without  displa}'." 

"What  can  they  be  about  at  this  time  of  night?" 
Boniface  Cointet  was  saying. 


212  Lost  Illusions. 

The  tall  Cointet  was  walking  about  the  place  du 
Murier  with  Cerizet,  and  he  saw,  as  he  spoke,  the 
shadows  of  the  husband  and  wife  on  the  muslin  window- 
curtains.  Cointet  was  in  the  habit  of  coming  there 
at  midnight  to  talk  business  with  Cerizet,  who  was 
charged  with  the  dut}'  of  watching  everj*  action  of  his 
late  employer. 

"He  is  showing  her,  no  doubt,  the  paper  he  manu- 
factured this  morning,"  replied  Cerizet. 

'^  What  substance  did  he  use  for  it?"  asked  the 
paper-maker. 

"Impossible  to  guess!"  replied  Cerizet.  "I  clam- 
bered on  the  roof  and  made  a  hole  through  it ;  I 
watched  Se'chard  all  night  boiling  his  pulp  in  a  copper 
pan  ;  I  looked  in  vain  at  a  heap  of  something  he  keeps 
piled  up  in  a  corner ;  all  I  could  find  out  was  that  the 
original  material  looked  like  a  mass  of  tow." 

"  Don't  go  an}'  farther,"  said  Boniface  to  his  sp}',  in 
a  virtuous  tone;  "it  would  be  improper.  Madame 
Sechard  will  probably  propose  to  you  to  renew  your 
lease.  When  she  does  so,  tell  her  that  you  want  to  be" 
come  a  master  printer ;  offer  her  half  the  value  of  the 
license  and  the  plant.  If  thev  accept,  come  and  tell 
me.  In  any  case,  drag  matters  along ;  they  are  now 
without  monc}'." 

"  Not  a  sou  ! "  said  Cerizet. 

"  Not  a  sou,"  repeated  Cointet.  "  They  are  mine  !  " 
he  added  softly  to  iiimself. 

The  firm  of  MtHivier  in  Paris  and  that  of  the  Cointets 
at  Angouleme  combined  the  business  of  banking  with 
their  otlier  vocations,  the  one  as  agent  for  paper- 
makers,  the  other  as  paper-making  printers.     The  Treas- 


Lost  Illusions.  213 

my  has  not  yet  found  a  way  to  control  commercial 
business  so  as  to  force  those  who  practise  surreptitious 
banking  to  take  out  a  banking  license,  which  costs, 
in  Paris  for  example,  five  hundred  francs.  But  the 
brothers  Cointet  and  Metivier,  though  they  were  what 
is  called  at  the  Bourse  "  marrons  "  (from  the  old  word 
marronner :  AnglicC',  to  maroon,  —  play  the  part  of 
pirates  and  corsairs),  did  a  business  of  their  own, 
amounting  to  several  hundred  thousand  francs  quarterly, 
in  the  mone\^  markets  of  Paris,  Bordeaux,  and  Angou- 
leme.  It  happened  that  this  ver3'  night  the  Cointet 
brothers  had  received  from  Metivier,  in  Paris,  the  three 
notes  of  a  thousand  francs  each  to  which  Lucien  had 
signed  his  brother-in-law's  name.  The  tall  Cointet  at 
once  constructed,  on  the  basis  of  this  debt,  a  formidable 
scheme,  directed,  as  we  shall  see,  against  the  poor  and 
patient  inventor. 

The  next  da}',  at  seven  in  the  morning,  Boniface 
Cointet  was  walking  up  and  down  by  the  conduit  which 
fed  his  paper-mill,  the  noise  of  which  covered  the  words 
of  those  who  were  near  it.  He  was  waiting  for  a  3'oung 
man  about  twent3'-nine  3'ears  of  age,  who  for  the  last 
six  weeks  had  been  practising  as  a  law3'er  in  the  courts  Y 
of  Angouleme  ;  the  name  of  this  man  was  Pierre  Petit- 
Claud. 

"  You  were  in  college  at  Angouleme  at  the  same 
time  as  David  Sechard,  I  think?"  said  the  tall  Cointet 
to  the  3'oung  lawver,  who  had  taken  care  not  to  miss 
bis  appointment  with  the  rich  merchant. 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  replied  Petit-Claud,  keeping  step 
with  Cointet. 

"  Have  you  kept  up  the  acquaintance?" 


214  Lost  Illusions, 

*'We  have  met  only  two  or  three  times  since  his 
return.  It  could  not  be  otherwise ;  I  am  buried  in  m}- 
office  or  engaged  in  the  courtroom  on  common  days, 
and  on  Sundays  and  feast  days  I  study ;  for  I  have  had 
to  rely  wholl}'  on  myself" 

Cointet  nodded  his  head  in  token  of  approval. 

"  When  David  and  I  did  meet,  he  asked  me  what  I 
had  been  doing.  I  told  him  I  had  studied  law  in  Poi- 
tiers, and  was  afterwards  head-clerk  to  Maitre  Olivet ; 
and  that  I  hoped  to  be  able  to  bu}'  that  practice  some 
day.  I  was  much  more  intimate  with  Lucien  Chardon, 
who  now  calls  himself  de  Rubempre,  the  lover  of  Ma- 
dame de  Bargeton,  our  great  poet,  and  now  David 
Sechard's  brother-in-law." 

"  You  can,  therefore,  go  to  Sechard  and  tell  him  vou 
have  now  bought  the  practice,  and  offer  him  your  ser- 
vices," said  Cointet. 

'*  That  is  never  done,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  He  has  had  no  suit ;  he  has  never  employed  a  law- 
yer ;  it  can  be  done,"  insisted  Cointet,  who  was  closely 
examining  the  little  practitioner  under  shelter  of  his 
spectacles. 

Son  of  a  tailor  at  I'lloumeau  and  despised  by  his 
schoolmates,  Pierre  Petit-Claud  seemed  to  have  had  a 
certain  amount  of  gall  infused  into  his  blood.  His  face 
'  had  the  dirty,  muddy  tints  which  indicate  former  ill- 
nesses, privations,  nights  of  anxiety,  and,  nearly  always, 
evil  feelings.  The  fellow  can  be  described  by  two 
words  that  are  used  in  common  parlance.  —  he  was 
sharp  and  snnp[)lsh.  His  cracked  voice  harmonized 
with  his  sour  face,  his  pinched  appearance,  and  the 
undecided  color  of  his  furtive  eve,  which  was  that  of 


Lost  Illusions.  215 

a  magpie.  Napoleon  declared  that  a  magpie  eye  was 
an  unfailing  indication  of  dishonest}':  *'  Look  at  such 
a  one,"  he  said  to  Las-Cases  at  Saint  Helena  (speaking 
of  one  of  his  confidants  whom  he  was  forced  to  dismiss 
for  dishonesty)  ;  "  I  don't  see  how  I  could  have  trusted 
him  so  long,  for  he  has  the  eye  of  a  lufigi^te."  So, 
when  the  tall  Cointet  had  fully  e:!Mmined  the  puny 
little  lawyer  with  scanty  hair  and  a^ace  pitted  with 
the  small-pox,  whose  forehead  and  skull  were  becoming 
one,  when  he  had  observed  him  resting  his  hand  on 
his  hip  wearily,  he  said  to  himself,  ''He  is  m}*  man." 
And,  in  fact,  Petit-Claud,  soaked  in  bitterness,  filled 
with  scorn,  eaten  up  b}'  a  corrosive  desire  to  force  his 
wa}',  had  alread\'  had  the  audacity'  to  bu}'  the  practice 
of  his  employer  for  thirt}*  thousand  francs,  without  the 
means  to  pa}'  for  it,  trusting  to  a  rich  marriage  to  pay 
it  off,  and  relying  also  on  his  late  employer  to  find  him 
a  wife,  —  for  the  predecessor  has  always  a  personal 
interest  in  marrying  a  successor,  when  the  latter  owes 
for  his  practice.  Petit-Claud,  however,  relied  still  more 
upon  himself;  for  he  was  not  without  a  certain  superi- 
ority, rare  in  the  provinces,  the  mainspring  of  which 
was  his  vindictiveness.     Great  hatred,  great  eflforts. 

There  is  a  vast  difference  between  city  lawyers  and 
provincial  lawyers,  and  the  tall  Cointet  was  much  too 
clever  not  to  profit  by  the  little  passions  which  move 
these  little  men.  In  Paris,  a  lawyer,  if  he  is  remarkable, 
—  and  there  are  many  such,  — has  several  of  the  quali- 
ties which  distinguish  a  diplomatist ;  the  number  of  his 
cases,  the  magnitude  of  the  interests  and  the  breadth  of 
the  questions  that  are  brought  before  him,  prevent  his 
regarding  bis  business  solely  as  a  means  of  making  a 


216  Lost  Illusions. 

fortune.  Whether  he  is  for  or  against,  armed  offen- 
sively or  defensively,  a  lawsuit  is  no  longer  to  him,  as 
it  once  was,  an  object  of  lucre.  In  the  provinces,  on 
the  contrar}',  law3'ers  cultivate  what  they  call,  in  the 
legal  regions  of  Paris,  ''  kindling,''  —  that  is,  a  crowd  of 
little  deeds  and  legal  papers  which  swell  the  bill  of 
costs,  use  much  stamped  paper,  and  keep  the  pot  a- 
boiling.  These  trifles  are  valuable  to  the  country  law- 
yer ;  he  sees  a  charge  to  be  made,  where  the  Parisian 
lawyer  thinks  only  of  a  fee.  The  fee  is  what  the  client 
owes  to  his  lawyer  over  and  above  the  costs  for  conduct- 
ing, more  or  less  ably,  his  case.  The  Treasury'  gets 
half  the  costs,  while  the  fees  belong  solely  to  the  law- 
3'er.  Let  us  say  it  boldly  :  the  fees  paid  are  rarely  in 
keeping  with  the  fees  asked  and  justlj*  due  for  the  ser- 
vices of  a  good  lawyer.  The  barristers,  physicians,  and 
attornej's  of  Paris  are,  like  courtesans  with  their  tran- 
sient lovers,  constantly  on  their  guard  against  the  grati- 
tude of  their  clients.  The  client  before,  and  the  client 
after  the  suit  is  brought,  might  make  two  admirable 
genre  pictures  worthy  of  Meissonnier,  which  would  be 
precious  no  doubt  to  many  a  feed  lawyer. 

There  is  another  difference  between  the  Paris  law- 
yers and  the  provincial  law3'ers.  The  Parisian  solicitor 
seldom  pleads  ;  he  speaks  sometimes  before  the  judge 
in  chambers;  but  in  most  of  the  departments  in  1822 
(since  then  barristers  have  swarmed)  the  solicitors 
were  barristers  and  pled  their  own  causes.  This  double 
life  produced  double  work,  which  gave  the  country 
solicitor  the  intellectual  vices  of  a  barrister,  with- 
out relieving  him  of  the  weighty  obligations  of  a 
solicitor.     The    provincial    solicitor  became    garrulous. 


Lost  Illusions.  217 

and  lost  that  lucidit}'  of  judgment  which  is  so  impor- 
tant in  the  management  of  legal  business.  By  thus 
doubling  liimself  a  superior  man  will  sometimes  make 
of  himself  two  inferior  men.  In  Paris  a  solicitor  never 
wastes  his  faculties  in  words  before  the  court,  he  sel- 
dom pleads  for  or  against ;  consequenth'  he  retains  the 
balance  of  his  ideas.  If  the  ballista  of  the  law  is  under 
his  control,  if  he  ransacks  the  arsenal  for  methods 
which  the  contradictions  of  jurisprudence  will  put  into 
his  hands,  he  keeps  his  own  counsel  on  the  matter  in 
behalf  of  which  he  is  straining  ever}'  nerve  to  prepare  a 
triumph.  Thought  is  much  less  intoxicating  than 
speech.  B3'  dint  of  talking  a  man  comes  to  believe 
what  he  says  ;  whereas  he  who  is  silent  can  act  against 
his  thought  without  impairing  it,  and  win  a  bad  case 
without  declaring  it  to  be  a  good  one,  as  the  solicitor 
who  pleads  is  forced  to  do  frequenth'.  An  experienced 
Parisian  solicitor  makes  a  better  judge  than  an  experi- 
enced Parisian  barrister. 

It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  a  provincial  solicitor 
has  manj^  causes  for  being  a  second-rate  man ;  he  es- 
pouses the  cause  of  pett}'  passions,  he  manages  petty 
affairs,  he  lives  b}'  bills  of  costs  ;  he  misuses  the  Code 
of  proceedings,  and  —  he  pleads  !  In  a  word,  he  has  a 
number  of  infirmities.  Consequently,  when  we  meet 
with  a  remarkable  man  among  provincial  lawyers  we 
ma}'  set  him  down  as  realh'  superior. 

•'  Monsieur,  I  thought  that  3'ou  sent  for  me  to  talk 
business,"  replied  Petit-Claud,  making  an  epigram  of 
his  speech  by  the  look  which  he  darted  at  the  impene- 
trable spectacles  of  the  tall  Cointet. 

"  Without  circumlocution,"  replied  Boniface  Cointet, 
**  I  have  this  to  say  —  " 


218  Lost  Illuaions, 

After  these  words,  big  with  confidences,  Cointet  sat 
down  on  a  bench,  and  invited  Petit-Claud  to  do  the 
same. 

"  When  Monsieur  du  Hauto\'  passed  through  Angou- 
leme  in  1804  to  go  to  Valence  as  consul,  he  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Madame  de  Seno.:5ches,  then  Mademoi- 
selle Zephirine  —  by  whom  he  had  a  daughter,"  went  on 
Cointet,  speaking  in  a  low  voice.  '*  Yes,"  he  continued, 
as  Petit-Claud  started,  "  and  the  marriage  of  Monsieur 
de  Senonches  and  Mademoiselle  Zephirine  followed  this 
clandestine  birth  almost  immediatel}'.  This  daughter, 
brought  up  in  the  country  by  mj'  mother,  is  IMademoi- 
selle  FranQoise  de  la  Haj'e,  now  living  with  Madame 
de  Senonches  who  is,  according  to  custom,  her  god- 
mother. As  m}'  mother,  who  was  wife  to  the  farmer  of 
old  Madame  de  Cardanet,  grandmother  of  Mademoiselle 
Zephirine,  knew  the  secret  of  the  only  heiress  of  the 
Cardanets  and  the  Senonches  of  the  elder  branch,  I  was 
intrusted  with  the  small  sums  whicli  Monsieur  Francis 
du  Hauto}'  sent  from  time  to  time  towards  the  support 
of  his  daughter.  Her  fortune  was  made  by  investing 
these  small  sums,  which  to-day  amount  to  over  thirt}' 
thousand  francs.  Madame  de  Senonches  will  certainly 
give  the  trousseau,  the  silver,  and  "some  furniture.  I 
can  get  the  girl  for  you,  m}-  lad,"  added  Cointet,  strik- 
ing Petit-Claud  on  the  knee.  "  By  marrying  Franqoise 
de  la  Haye  you  will  obtain  the  greater  part  of  the  aris- 
tocracy of  Angouleme  as  clients.  This  alliance,  in 
spite  of  the  bar  sinister,  will  open  a  splendid  future  to 
you.  The  position  of  a  barrister  and  solicitor  would, 
I  suppose,  be  thouglit  sutlicient ;  in  fact,  I  know  that 
they  expect  no  better." 


Lost  Illusions.  219 

''What  can  be  done?"  said  Petit-Claud,  eagerl3\ 
"  You  have  Maitre  Cachan  for  your  lawyer  —  " 

"Yes,  and  I  shall  not  leave  Cachan  abruptly  for 
you  ;  3'ou  will  onl}^  get  m}^  custom  later,"  said  Cointet, 
significantly.  *'  You  ask  what  can  be  done  —  why, 
David  Sechard's  business.  The  poor  devil  has  three 
thousand  francs  to  paj'  us,  and  he  can't  pay  them. 
You  must  defend  him  ;  run  up  a  huge  bill  of  costs,  and 
don't  be  afraid ;  go  on,  and  pile  up  the  items.  Dou- 
blon,  the  sheriff,  who  will  proceed  against  him  under 
Cachan's  direction,  won't  fail  to  strike  hard.  A  word 
to  the  wise,  3'ou  know?     Now,  3'oung  man ?  —  " 

He  made  an  eloquent  pause,  during  which  the  pair 
looked  at  each  other. 

"  We  have  never  seen  each  other,  you  and  I,"  re- 
sumed Cointet.  "  I  have  never  spoken  to  5'ou  ;  you 
know  nothing  of  Monsieur  du  Hauto}^,  nor  of  Madame 
de  Senonches,  nor  of  Mademoiselle  de  la  Haye  ;  onl}', 
when  the  time  comes,  say  two  months  hence,  you  can 
ask  for  the  hand  of  that  young  woman  in  marriage. 
When  it  is  necessary  that  we  should  see  each  other, 
come  here  at  night.     We  cannot  write." 

"  You  wish  to  ruin  Sechard  ?  " 

''  No,  not  wholly  ;  but  he  must  be  kept  in  prison  for 
some  time.'' 

"For  what  object?" 

"  Do  you  think  me  such  a  fool  as  to  tell  you?  if  you 
have  sense  enough  to  guess  it  you  have  enough  to  hold 
your  tongue." 

"  Old  Sechard  is  rich,"  said  Petit-Claud,  entering  at 
once  into  Cointet's  idea,  and  perceiving  a  cause  of 
failure. 


220  Lost  Illusions. 

"  As  long  as  the  father  Hves  he  won't  give  a  penny 
to  his  son  ;  and  that  old  ex-typographer  is  a  long  way 
yet  from  printing  liis  funeral  cards  —  " 

"  I  agree  !  "  said  Petit-Claud,  deciding  promptly  ;  *'  I 
ask  you  for  no  guarantees ;  I  'm  a  lawyer ;  if  I  am 
tricked  I  shall  know  how  to  bring  you  to  accounty 

"  That  scamp  will  go  far,"  thought  Cointet,  as  he 
parted  from  Petit- Claud. 

The  day  after  this  conference,  April  3,  the  brothers 
Cointet  caused  the  first  of  Lucien's  forged  notes  to  be 
presented.  Unfortunately  it  was  brought  to  poor 
Madame  Sechard,  who,  seeing  at  once  the  imitation  of 
her  husband's  handwriting,  called  David  and  said  to 
him  plainly,   "  You  never  signed  that  note?  " 

"No,"  he  said,  "your  brother  was  so  pressed  he 
signed  it  for  me." 

Eve  gave  back  the  note  to  the  Cointets'  office-bo}-, 
saying,  "  We  are  not  able  to  pay  it." 

Then,  feeling  that  her  strength  was  giving  way,  she 
went  up  to  her  room,  where  David  followed  her. 

"  My  husband,"  said  Eve  in  a  faint  voice,  "  go  to  the 
Cointets' ;  they  will  surely  have  some  consideration  for 
you.  Beg  them  to  wait ;  and  besides,  point  out  to  them 
that  by  renewing  Cerizet's  lease  they  will  owe  you  a 
thousand  francs." 

David  went  at  once  to  his  enemies.  A  foreman  can 
always  become  a  master-printer,  but  a  clever  printer  is 
not  always  a  business  man.  Consequently  David,  who 
knew  little  of  business,  was  silent  in  i)resence  of  the 
tall  Cointet  when,  having  made  his  excuses  awkwardly 
and  preferred  his  re(iuest  with  a  parched  throat  and  a 
beating  heart,  he  received  the  following  reply  :     "This 


Lost  Illusions.  221 

does  not  concern  us ;  we  have  taken  the  note  from 
Metivier,  and  he  will  pay  us.  Address  yourself  to 
Metivier.'' 

''Oh!"  said  Eve,  when  David  returned  with  this 
answer,  "  if  the  note  belongs  to  Monsieur  Metivier  we 
need  not  be  troubled.'' 


222  Lost  Illusions. 


III. 


A  LECTURE,  PUBLIC  AND  GRATUITOUS,  ON  BILLS  OP 
COSTS,  FOR  THE  BENEFIT  OF  YOUNG  MEN  WHO 
CANNOT    MEET    THEIR    NOTES. 

The  next  day  Victor- Ange-Hermenegilde  Doublon, 
the  sheriff,  gave  notice  of  the  protest  of  the  bill  at  two 
o'clock,  an  hour  when  the  place  du  Murier  is  full  of 
people :  and  in  spite  of  the  care  he  took  to  speak  to 
Marion  and  Kolb  at  the  side-door  on  the  lane,  the  pro- 
test was  none  the  less  known  to  the  whole  business 
community  of  Angouleme  before  night.  Besides,  how 
could  these  hj^pocritical  precautions  of  Doublon,  who 
had  been  cautioned  b^-  the  tall  Cointet  to  show  the 
utmost  consideration,  save  Eve  and  David  from  the 
commercial  disgrace  of  a  suspension  of  paj'ment  ?  The 
following  prosaic  details  will  for  once  in  a  way  seem 
only  too  short.  Ninety-nine  readers  out  of  a  hundred 
will  be  enticed  along  by  them  as  they  are  by  some 
piquant  novelty  in  the  shops.  This  will  prove  once 
more  the  truth  of  the  axiom  that  there  is  nothing 
less  known  than  that  which  everybody  ought  to  know, 
namely.  The  Law. 

Certainly  to  the  vast  majority  of  Frenchmen  the 
mechanism  of  a  wheel  of  the  Bank  of  France,  if  prop- 
erly described,  would  afford  all  the  interest  of  a  journey 
into  a  foreign  country.     When  a  merchant  sends  froi'i 


Lost  Illusions.  223 

the  town  where  he  lives,  a  note  of  hand  pa3'able  to  a 
person  in  another  cit}',  as  David  was  supposed  to  have 
done  to  oblige  Lucien,  he  changes  the  simple  transaction 
of  a  payment  made  between  merchants  of  the  same  town 
for  purposes  of  business  into  something  which  resembles 
a  letter  of  exchange  drawn  by  one  place  on  another  place. 
Therefore  when  Metivier  accepted  the  three  notes  from 
Lucien  he  was  obliged,  in  order  to  touch  their  amount, 
to  send  them  to  his  correspondents  in  Angouleme,  the 
Cointet  Brothers.  That  meant  a  loss  for  Lucien  of  so 
much  per  cent  mulcted  from  each  note,  beside  the  dis- 
count, under  the  name  of  "  commission  for  change  of 
place."  The  Sechard  notes  had  now  passed  into  the 
categor}'  of  banking  affairs.  You  could  hardl}'  believe 
how  the  quality  of  banker  joined  to  the  august  title  of 
creditor  changes  the  condition  of  a  debtor.  Therefore, 
ill  hanking  (pa}'  attention  to  that  expression)  whenever 
a  note,  transmitted  from  the  Paris  mone}'  market  to 
the  Angouleme  money  market,  is  unpaid  the  bankers 
owe  it  to  themselves  to  have  recourse  to  what  are 
termed  in  law  "  bills  of  costs." 

As  soon  as  Doublon  had  registered  his  protest  he 
took  it  himself  to  the  Cointets'.  The  sheriff  kept  an 
account  with  these  h'nxes  of  Angouleme,  and  gave 
them  a  credit  of  six  months,  which  the  tall  Cointet  pro- 
longed into  a  year  b}-  his  system  of  payment,  all  the 
while  saying  from  month  to  month  to  the  sub  lynx, 
"Doublon,  do  you  want  any  money?"  Boniface 
Comtet  now  seated  himself  tranquilly  at  his  desk,  took 
out  a  slip  of  paper  stamped  with  thirtj'-five  centimes, 
all  the  while  talking  with  Doublon  on  the  real  condition 
of  their  various  debtors. 


224  Lost  Illusions. 

"  Well,  are  you  satisfied  with  that  little  Ganncrac?  " 
"•  He  is  not  doing  well ;  there  's  a  leak  somewhere." 
*' Ah!  the  fact  is  he  has  too  man}-  drawing  on  him. 

They  tell  me  his  wife  is  expensive." 

"  His  wife  !  "  cried  Doublon  in  a  sarcastic  tone. 
The  master-lynx,  who  had  ruled  his  paper  by  this 

time,  now  wrote    off  in   a  round    hand    the    following 

account,  which  is  given  verbatim :  — 

Account  Rendered  and  Bill  of  Costs. 
To  one  note  of  One  Thousand  Francs,  dated  at  Angou- 
leme  the  tenth  of  February,  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and 
twenty-two,  drawn  by  Sechard  Fils  to  the  order  of  Lucien 
Chardon  (otherwise  called  de  Rubempre),  passed  to  the  order 
of  Metivier  and  to  our  order,  falling  due  on  the  thirtieth  of 
April  last,  and  protested  on  the  first  of  May,  one  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  twenty-two. 

Principal 1,000  00 

Serving  notice  of  protest 12  35 

Commission  at  one  half  per  cent    ...  5  00 

Commission  on  brokerage  one  quarter  per 

cent 2  50 

Stamps,  return  draft,  and  present  account  1  35 

Interest  and  postage 3  00 

1,024  20 
Exchange  at  one  and  one  quarter  per  cent         13  45 

1,037  45 
One  thousand  and  thirty-seven  francs,  sixty-five  centimes, 
for  which  sum  we  have  drawn  at  sight  on  ^lonsieur  ]\Ictivier, 
rue  Serpente,  Paris,  to  the  order  of  IMonsieur  Gannerac  of 
rHoumeau. 

CoiNTET  Brothers. 
Angoulunic,  May  2,  1822. 


Lost  Illusions.  225 

At  the  foot  of  this  little  bill,  made  out  with  the  ease  of 
a  practised  hand  (all  the  while  talking  with  Doublon), 
Cointet  added  the  following  declaration  :  — 

We,  the  undersigned,  Postal,  master  apothecary  at  I'Hou- 
meau,  and  Ganuerac,  carrier,  inhabitants  of  the  town  of 
Angouleme,  do  hereby  certify  that  exchange  between  the 
said  town  and  Paris  is  one  and  one  quarter  per  cent. 

Angouleme,  May  3,  1822. 

"  There,  Doublon,  be  so  good  as  to  carry  that  to 
Postel  and  to  Gannerac,  and  ask  them  to  sign  the 
declaration,  and  bring  it  back  to  me  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

Doublon,  well  versed  in  these  instruments  of  torture, 
went  off  as  if  employed  in  the  simplest  ever3'-da3^  matter  ; 
and  all  Angouleme  was  soon  well  aware  of  the  unhappy 
condition  of  poor  David  Sechard's  affairs.  And  what 
animadversions  were  then  made  against  his  apathy  and 
incompetence  !  some  said  his  ruin  was  caused  by  his 
excessive  love  for  his  wife  ;  otliers  by  his  blind  affection 
for  his  brother-in-law.  What  folly  to  take  other  people's 
burdens  upon  him.  Old  Sechard  was  right  in  treatino- 
him  harshl}' ;  the}^  admired  his  wisdom. 

Now,  all  you  who  for  any  reason  forget  or  are  unable 
to  keep  your  money  engagements,  examine  carefully  the 
strictly  legal  proceedings  by  which  in  ten  minutes  the 
bank  exacts  twenly-eight  francs  interest  on  a  capital  of 
one  thousand  francs. 

The  first  item  of  the  above  account  is  the  onlj-  incon- 
testable one. 

The  second  item  concerns  the  Treasury  and  the  sheriff. 
The  six  francs  mulcted  by  the  former  (for  registerino- 

15 


226  Lost  Illusions. 

the  debtor's  miser}-  and  furnishing  stamped  paper)  will 
prolong  the  life  of  this  abuse  for  some  time  j'et.  You 
know,  moreover,  that  this  item  covers  a  profit  of  one 
franc  and  fifty  centimes  to  the  banker  for  brokerage. 

The  commission  of  one  half  per  cent  which  forms  tlie 
third  item  is  exacted  under  the  ingenious  pretext  that 
not  to  receive  a  payment  is  equivalent,  in  banking,  to 
discounting  a  note.  Though  it  is  precisely  the  reverse, 
giving  a  thousand  francs  seems  to  be  considered  the 
same  as  not  receiving  them  cash  in  hand.  Whoever 
has  presented  bills  to  be  discounted  knows  that  besides 
the  six  francs  legally  due,  the  broker  deducts,  under  the 
humble  name  of  commission,  a  percentage,  which  per- 
centage being  over  and  above  the  legal  rate  of  interest 
enables  him  to  make  a  further  sum,  which  he  loans  at  a 
profit.  The  more  he  earns,  the  more  he  demands. 
Therefore,  do  your  discounting  with  fools  ;  it  is  cheaper. 
But  are  there  any  fools  in  a  bank  ? 

The  law  obliges  the  banker  to  furnish  the  certificate 
of  a  mone3'-changer  as  to  the  current  rate  of  interest. 
In  places  so  unfortunate  as  not  to  have  a  Bourse,  that 
is,  an  Exchange,  this  duty  of  the  mone3'-changer  is  per- 
formed by  two  merchants.  The  commission  for  broker- 
age due  to  this  agent  is  fixed  at  one  quarter  per  cent 
of  the  sum  for  which  the  note  is  drawn.  It  is  custom- 
ary to  consider  that  this  commission  has  been  paid  to 
the  merchants  who  take  the  place  of  the  money-changer, 
and  the  banker  simpl}'  puts  the  percentage  in  his  own 
cash-box.  80  much  tor  the  third  article  of  this  charm- 
ing account. 

The  fourth  item  includes  the  cost  of  the  stamped  paper 
on  which  the  various  accounts  and  bills  are  written,  and 


Lost  Illusions.  227 

that  of  the  stamp  on  what  is  so  ingeniously  called  "  la 
retraite;"  that  is  to  sa\-,  the  new  draft  drawn  b}'  the 
banker  on  his  brother  banker  to  reimburse  himself. 

The  fifth  item  includes  the  postage  of  letters  and  the 
legal  interest  on  the  sum  in  question  during  the  time 
that  elapses  before  it  comes  into  the  banker's  hands. 

And,  finall}',  the  change  in  the  market,  the  verj'  ob- 
ject of  a  bank,  is  made  the  reason  of  another  payment. 

Now,  sift  this  account  in  which  (as  Polichinello  com- 
putes in  the  Neapolitan  song  so  delightfulh'  sung  by 
Lablache)  "  fifteen  and  five  make  twenty-two."  Evi- 
dently the  signature  of  Messrs.  Postel  and  Gannerac 
was  a  matter  of  courtes}',  and  the  Cointets  certified  for 
them  in  return  when  required  ;  no  charge  either  wa}'. 
It  was  merely  putting  in  practice  the  well-known  prov- 
erb "  Pass  me  the  rhubarb,  and  I  '11  pass  3'ou  the  senna." 
The  Cointets,  having  a  current  account  with  Metivier, 
were  not  obliged  to  draw  a  "  retraite,"  that  is,  anew 
draft ;  a  returned  bill  onh'  required  one  line  more  to  the 
credit  or  debit  side. 

This  absurd  account  reduces  itself  in  reality  to  the 
thousand  francs  due,  the  costs  of  the  protest,  and  one 
half  per  cent  interest  for  one  month's  delayed  payment. 

If  a  banking-house  has  an  average  of  one  unpaid  note 
dail}"  of  the  value  of  a  thousand  francs,  it  earns  twent}'- 
eight  francs  daih',  by  the  grace  of  God  and  the  consti- 
tutions of  the  bank,  a  formidable  sovereignt}'  invented 
by  the  Jews  of  the  twelfth  century,  which  to-day  holds 
thrones  and  peoples  in  the  hollow  of  its  hand.  In  other 
words,  one  thousand  francs  brins^  in  to  one  banking- 
house  twentj'-eight  francs  a  day,  or  ten  thousand  two 
hundred  and  twenty  francs  a  year.     Triple  that  number 


228  Lout  Illusions. 

of  bills  of  costs,  and  3-011  have  a  revenue  of  thivt}'  thou- 
sand francs  on  fictitious  capital.  Consequent!}',  noth- 
ing in  banking  is  more  lovingly  cultivated  than  such 
accounts.  If  David  Sechard  had  gone  to  pay  his  note 
on  the  3d  of  Ma}^,  or  even  on  the  very  day  it  was  pro- 
tested, the  Cointet  Brothers  would  have  said  to  him, 
"We  have  returned  j-our  note  to  Monsieur  Metivier," 
though  the  paper  might  be  still  in  their  desk.  This,  in 
the  language  of  the  provincial  banks,  is  called  "  making 
the  francs  sweat."  Postage  alone  brings  in  twent}- 
thousand  francs  a  year  to  the  Kellers,  who  correspond 
with  the  whole  world  ;  and  the  proceeds  of  bills  of  costs ' 
pay  for  the  opera-box,  carriage,  and  dress  of  Madame  la 
Baronne  de  Nucingen.  Postage  is  an  abuse  which  is  all 
the  more  flagrant  because  bankers  dispose  of  a  dozen 
matters  of  the  same  nature  in  a  dozen  lines  of  one 
letter.  It  is  strange  but  true  that  the  Treasury  takes  its 
share  of  this  premium  wrung  from  miser}' ;  its  coffers 
are  swelled  b}'  commercial  misfortunes.  As  to  the  bank, 
it  flings  to  the  debtor  from  the  recesses  of  its  counting- 
room  this  reasonable  question:  "  Wh}'  are  you  not 
prepared  to  pay  ?  "  to  which,  alas  !  the  unhappy  victim 
has  no  answer.  Thus  the  bill  of  costs  is  full  of  terrible 
fictions,  for  which  debtors,  if  they  do  but  reflect  on  this 
instructive  history,  will  feel  in  future  a  salutary  horror. 

On  the  4th  of  May  Metivier  received  the  return  note 
and  bill  of  costs  from  the  Messrs.  Cointet,  with  an  order 
to  prosecute  to  the  utmost  in  Paris  INIonsieur  Lucieu 
Chardon,  otherwise  called  de  Rubempre. 

Some  days  later  Eve  received  in  answer  to  tlie  letter 
slie  had  written  to  INL'tivier  the  following  brief  reply, 
which  set  her  mind  conipletel}'  at  ease :  — 


Lost  Illusions.  229 

To  Monsieur  Sechard  Fils,  Printer,  Angouleme. 

I  received  in  due  course  your  esteemed  favor  of  the  5th 
instant.  I  understand  from  your  explanations  relating  to 
the  unpaid  note  of  the  30th  of  April  last,  that  you  have 
obliged  your  brother-in-law.  Monsieur  de  Rubempre,  who  has 
spent  so  much  money  that  it  would  be  doing  you  a  service 
to  compel  him  to  pay  this  note.  His  position  is  such  that 
he  will  probably  not  delay  doing  so.  Should  your  honored 
brother-in-law  not  take  up  this  note,  I  shall  rely  on  the 
credit  of  your  long  established  house,  and  remain  as  before, 
Your  servant  to  command, 

Metivier. 

"Well,"  said  Eve  to  David,  "  Lucien  will  know  by 
this  summons  that  we  were  unable  to  meet  the  note." 

What  a  change  in  Eve's  feelings  was  shown  by  this 
remark  !  The  increasing  love  inspired  by  David's  na- 
ture, as  she  came  more  and  more  to  nnderstand  it,  was 
superseding  in  her  heart  the  old  fraternal  love.  But, 
alas!  to  how  many  illusions  was  she  forced  to  bid  adieu. 

Let  us  now  follow  the  coarse  of  that  returned  note 
and  bill  of  costs  in  Paris.  A  "  third-holder  "  (the  com- 
mercial name  of  one  who  holds  a  note  transmissibly),is 
permitted  by  law  to  sue  whichever  of  the  divers  debtors 
of  the  note  offers  the  best  or  quickest  chance  of  pay- 
ment. In  virtue  of  this  legal  right  Lucien  was  sum- 
moned to  pay  by  Metivler's  sheriff.  Here  follow  the 
different  phases  of  this  action.  Me'tivier,  behind  whom 
were  the  Cointets,  knew  ver}-  well  that  Lucien  was  in- 
solvent ;  but  in  the  eye  of  the  law  insolvency  de  facto 
does  not  exist  until  it  is  legally  declared.  It  was  now 
in  the  following  manner  legally  declared  impossible  to 
obtain  payment  of  the  protested  note  from  Lucien. 


230  Lost  Illusions, 

Metivier's  sheriff  notified  Lucien,  May  5,  that  the 
note  was  protested  in  Angouleme  and  the  return  papers 
in  his  hands,  and  he  summoned  the  poet  before  the 
Court  of  Commerce  in  Paris  to  hear  a  vast  number  of 
things,  among  others  that  he  was  liable  to  imprisonment 
as  a  merchant.  When,  at  last,  in  the  midst  of  his  life 
as  a  stag  at  ba^',  Lucien  read  this  scrawl,  he  also  re- 
ceived notice  that  judgment  had  gone  against  him  by 
default.  He  saw  the  meaning  of  it  all,  and  the  injury 
he  had  done  to  his  famil3\  Tears  came  to  his  ej^es  ;  hp 
pitied  David  ;  he  felt  ashamed  of  his  forgery  and  wished 
to  pay  the  note.  Naturally  he  consulted  his  friends ; 
but  by  the  time  Lousteau,  Blondet,  Bixiou,  and  Nathan 
had  told  him  that  poets  ought  to  snap  their  fingers  at 
courts  of  commerce,  legal  inventions  meant  oxAy  for 
shopkeepers,  Lucien  was  alread}'  in  the  grasp  of  the 
law.  His  door  bore  the  yellow  poster  which  has  such  a 
stringent  effect  upon  credit,  carrying  alarm  to  the  mind 
of  every  tradesman,  and  freezing  the  very  blood  in  the 
veins  of  a  poet  who  has  feeling  enough  to  care  for  the 
bits  of  wood,  the  silken  rags,  the  colored  woollen  stuffs, 
and  the  other  knick-knackery  which  goes  by  the  name 
of  furniture.  The  author  of  "The  Daisies"  rushed 
to  a  friend  of  Bixiou,  a  lawyer  named  Desroches,  who 
laughed  at  Lucien  for  being  in  such  a  fright  about,  as 
he  called  it,  notliing  at  all. 

''It  is  nothing^  my  dear  fellow  ;  but  I  suppose  you 
want  to  gain  time  ?  " 

"  Yes,  as  much  as  possible." 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  apply  for  a  sta}'  of  execution. 
Go  and  see  a  friend  of  mine,  Masson,  an  attorney  in 
the  commercial  courts.     It  can  all  be  managed  easily  ; 


Lost  Illusions.  231 

3'ou  are  a  journalist  of  some  note,  you  know.  If  you 
are  summoned  before  the  civil  courts  come  to  me; 
that's  m}'  affair." 

On  May  28  Lucien,  summoned  before  the  civil  court, 
was  condemned  much  more  quickl}'  than  Desroches  ex- 
pected, for  the  creditors  were  urgent.  Wlien  the  new 
execution  was  put  in  and  the  yellow  posters  again  ap- 
peared on  the  door,  Desroches,  who  felt  rather  foolish 
at  getting  ' '  pinched  "  as  he  said,  in  that  way,  moved  a 
stay  of  proceedings,  declaring  with  perfect  truth  that  the 
furniture  belonged  to  Mademoiselle  Coralie  (the  actress 
with  whom  Lucien  lived) ,  and  he  referred  the  question 
to  the  judge,  who  rendered  a  decision  that  the  property 
belonged  to  the  actress.  Metivier  appealed,  but  his 
claim  was  overruled  by  a  judgment  rendered  on  the 
30th  of  July. 

August  7,  Maitre  Cachan  received  b}*  coach  an  enor- 
mous package  of  papers  entitled,  "  Metivier  against 
Sechard  and  Chardon." 

The  first  document  was  the  following  little  bill,  the 
correctness  of  which  is  hereb}^  guaranteed,  for  it  is  copied 
from  the  original :  — 

Xote  of  April  30  last,  drawn  by  Sechard  Fils,  to  the  order 
of  Lucien  de  Rubempre,  and  bill  of  costs. 

L037  fr.  45  c. 

May  5.  N'otification  of  protest  and  return  of  note ; 
with  summons  before  the  Court  of  Com- 
merce in  Paris  for  May  7 8  75 

"   7.     Judgment,  condemnation  by  default  with 

arrest  for  debt 35  00 

"  10.   Notification  of  judgment       8  50 

"  14.   Proces-verbal  of  distraint       16  00 


232  Lost  Illusions, 

"  18.   Proces-verbal  of  application  of  placards     .       15  25 

"  19.   Insertion  in  newspaper 4  00 

"  24.   Proces-verbal  of   reading  judgment  to  de- 
fendant ;  containing  appeal  for  stay  of  pro- 
ceedings by  the  Sieur  Lucien  de  Rubempre       12  00 
"  27.    Judgment  of   tlie  court  which,  on  ap2:)eal 
duly  repeated,  sends  the  parties  to  the  civil 

courts 35  00 

"  28.    Summons  without  delay  by  IMetivier,  before 

the  civil  court       •      6  50 

June  2.  Judgment  after  hearing,  condemning  Lucien 
Chardon  to  pay  the  note,  and  bill  of  costs, 
and  the  plaintiffs  the  costs  before  the  Com't 

of  Commerce 150  00 

"     6.   Notification  of  the  above       ......       10  00 

"  15.   Injunction 5  50 

"  19.  Proces-verbal  of  seizure,  containing  demur- 
rer to  seizure,  by  the  Demoiselle  Coralie, 
who  declares  that  the  furniture  belongs  to 
her,  and  demands  to  go  before  the  judge 
in  chambers  at  once,  in  case  the  execution 

must  proceed        20  00 

"  19.   Order  of  the  President  sending  the  parties 

into  court 40  00 

"  19.  Judgment  affirming  that  the  property  be- 
longs to  the  said  Demoiselle  Coralie  .     .     .     250  00 

"  20.   Appeal  by  Metivier 17  00 

"  30.   Decree  confirming  judgment 230  00 

Total      .     8S9~00 

Note  of  May  31,  and  bill  of  costs        .     .     .    1037  fr.  45  c. 
Notification  to  Lucien  Chardon      ....  8        75 

1,04G  20 

Note  of  June  30,  and  bill  of  costs  ....  1,037  45 

Notification  to  Lucien  Chardon       ....  8  75 

1,04(1  20 


Lout  Illusions.  233 

This  account  was  accompanied  by  a  letter  in  which 
Metivier  instructed  Cachan,  the  lawyer  at  Angouleiue, 
to  compel  David  Sechard  to  pay  b}*  every  means  of 
law.  Maitre  Uoublon  accordingly  summoned  Sechard 
before  the  Court  of  Commerce  of  Angouleme  for  the 
payment  of  the  sum  total  of  the  three  notes  and  the 
costs  already  incurred  on  the  first ;  namely,  a  sum  total 
of  four  thousand  and  eighteen  francs,  eighty- five  cen- 
times, 4018  frs.  85c.  The  day  on  which  Doublon 
brought  to  Madame  Sechard  the  order  compelling  her 
to  pa}'  this  enormous  sum,  Eve  had  received  earl\'  in 
the  morning  this  annihilating  letter  from  Metivier :  — 

To  Monsieur    David    Sechard,  Printer,  Angouleme  : 
Your  brother-in-law,  Liicien  Chardon,  is  a  man  ot  shame- 
ful dishonesty,  who  has  put  his  property  in  the  name  of  an 
actress,  with  whom  he  lives. 

You  ought,  monsieur,  to  have  honorably  informed  me  of 
these  circumstances,  and  not  have  allowed  me  to  sue  him 
uselessly,  for  you  did  not  reply  to  my  letter  of  ]\lay  10th 
last.  You  must  not  feel  affronted  if  I  demand  of  you  im- 
mediate payment  of  the  three  notes  and  my  expenses  m- 
curred  thereon. 

Accept,  etc.,  etc., 

Metivier. 

Having  heard  nothing  more  on  the  subject  since 
Metivier's  letter  of  May  10th,  P2ve,  understanding  noth- 
ing of  commercial  law,  supposed  that  her  brother  had 
repaired  his  crime  by  paying  the  forged  notes. 

'•  David,"  she  said  to  her  husband,  '•  go  first  of  all  to 
Petit-Claud ;  explain  to  him  our  position  and  ask  his 
advice." 

''  My  dear  friend,"  said  the  poor  printer,  hastily  enter- 
ing the  private  office  of  his  comrade,  '•  I  little  thought, 


234  Lost  Illusions, 

when  3'ou  came  to  tell  me  of  your  appointment  and  to 
offer  me  your  services,  that  I  should  need  them  so 
soon." 

Petit-Claud  studied  the  fine  face  of  the  thinker  as  he 
sat  opposite  to  him,  for  he  did  not  need  to  listen  to  the 
details  of  an  affair  which  he  knew  a  great  deal  better 
than  the  man  who  was  explaining  ]them.  Seeing 
that  Sechard  was  anxious,  he  said  to  himself,  "  The 
trick  works."  This  kind  of  scene  often  takes  place  in 
a  lawyer's  office.  ''  Why  should  the  Cointets  persecute 
him?"  thought  Petit-Claud.  Lawyers  are  as  desirous 
of  penetrating  the  minds  of  their  clients  as  those  of 
their  adversaries  ;  they  feel  the  need  of  knowing  the 
wrong  side  as  well  as  the  right  side  of  the  legal  plot. 

"  You  must  gain  time,"  said  Petit-Claud,  when 
Sechard  had  finished  his  tale.  "  How  much  do  you 
want  ?     Will  three  or  four  months  do  ?  " 

"Oh!  four  months  will  save  me!  "  cried  David,  to 
whose  eyes  Petit-Claud  seemed  a  deliverer. 

*'  Well,  they  can  be  prevented  from  touching  your 
furniture  or  arresting  you  for  three  or  four  months ; 
but  it  will  cost  you  dear,"  said  Petit- Claud. 

''  Well,  that  won't  signify,"  cried  Sechard. 

"  Do  you  expect  remittances  ?  are  you  sure  of  them  ?  " 
asked  the  lawyer,  somewhat  surprised  at  the  ease  with 
which  his  client  fell  into  the  trap. 

"  In  three  months  I  shall  be  a  rich  man,"  said  the  in- 
ventor, with  an  inventor's  confidence. 

"  Your  father  is  still  above  ground,"  said  Petit- 
Claud  ;  "he  clings  to  his  vines." 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  am  counting  on  ni}'  father's 
death?"  said  David.     "  I  am  on  the  track  of  an  Indus- 


Lost  Illusions,  235 

trial  secret  which  will  enable  me  to  manufacture  paper 
without  a  thread  of  cotton,  but  quite  as  firm  as  Holland 
paper,  at  fift}'  per  cent  below  the  present  net  cost  of 
the  cotton  pulp/' 

'^  There's  a  fortune  in  it!"  exclaimed  Petit-Claud, 
understanding  at  once  the  Cointets'  scheme. 

"  A  great  fortune,  m}'  dear  friend,  for  ten  3-ears  from 
now  ten  times  the  amount  of  paper  that  is  used  to-da}* 
will  be  wanted.     Journalism  is  going  to  be  the  craze 
of  our  times." 
•  ''  Does  any  one  know  your  secret?  " 

*'  No  one  but  my  wife." 

' '  You  have  not  told  your  plan  —  your  prospects  — 
to  any  one?  to  the  Cointets,  for  example?" 

"I  think  I  did  speak  of  it  to  the  Cointets,  but 
vaguely." 

A  flash  of  generosity  passed  through  the  embittered 
soul  of  Petit-Claud,  and  he  tried  to  combine  the  inter- 
ests of  the  Cointets  and  his  own  with  that  of  Sechard. 

''Listen  to  me,  David,"  he  said.  "  We  are  school- 
mates ;  I  will  defend  3-ou ;  but  remember,  this  defence 
against  obvious  law  will  cost  you  five  or  six  thousand 
francs.  Don't  compromise  3'our  future.  I  think  you 
will  be  obliged  to  share  the  profits  of  your  invention 
with  some  manufacturer.  You  would  think  twice,  I 
am  sure,  before  you  would  attempt  to  manufacture 
paper  yourself ;  besides,  you  will  have  to  get  a  patent. 
All  that  will  take  time  and  money.  The  sheriff  will  be 
down  upon  you  meanwhile,  sooner  or  later,  in  spite 
of  all  our  efforts  to  escape  him." 

"  I  hold  to  my  secret !  "  replied  David,  with  the  sim- 
plicity of  a  student. 


236  Lost  Illusions. 

''  Well,  keep  j'our  secret ;  it  will  be  3'our  sheet 
anchor,"  returned  Petit-Claud,  repulsed  in  his  first  and 
loyal  intention  to  avoid  a  lawsuit  b}'  a  compromise. 
"  I  don't  want  to  know  it.  But  listen  to  what  I  sa}- : 
work  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  if  you  can  ;  let  no  one 
see  or  suspect  ^'our  methods  of  execution,  or  3'Our 
anchor  will  be  stolen  from  3'ou.  An  inventor  is  often 
a  simpleton  ;  3'Ou  think  too  much  of  30ur  secrets  to  think 
of  anything  else.  Before  long  some  one  will  suspect 
the  object  of  your  researches  ;  and  remember,  you  are 
surrounded  b3'  manufacturers.  So  inan3'  paper-makers, 
so  man3"  enemies  !  You  are  like  a  beaver  in  the  midst 
of  the  trappers,  —  don't  let  them  get  your  skin." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  comrade,  I  have  thought  of 
all  that  m3'self,"  said  David ;  ','  but  I  am  just  as  much 
obliged  to  3^ou  for  showing  me  such  forethought  and 
solicitude.  It  is  not  reall3'  a  question  of  myself  in  this 
matter.  I  could  be  satisfied  with  twelve  hundred  francs 
a  year,  and  my  father  will  certainly  leave  me  three 
times  as  much  some  da3' ;  I  live  by  love  and  in  my 
thoughts  —  a  divine  life !  But  the  question  is  for 
Lucien  and  for  my  wife ;  it  is  for  them  I  work." 

"Well,  sign  me  this  power  of  attorney;  and  think 
of  nothing  but  your  discovery.  Wiien  the  time  comes 
for  you  to  hide  yourself  to  escape  arrest,  I  will  warn 
you  the  night  before.  And  let  me  tell  you  again  not 
to  allow  an3*  one  to  come  into  your  house  whom  you 
cannot  trust  as  you  would  3'ourself." 

*' Cerizet  does  not  wish  to  renew  his  lease,  and  that 
is  wh3"  we  are  pressed  for  mone3'  to  meet  our  daily 
expenses,"  said  David.  "  There  is  no  one  now  about 
the  premises  but  Marion  and  Kolb,  an  Alsacian  wiio  is 


Lost  Illusions.  237 

like  a  spaniel  in  his  devotion  to  me  and  my  wife  and 
mother-in-law." 

"  Distrust  that  spaniel !  "  said  Petit-Claud. 

"You  don't  know  him/'  cried  David;  "  Kolb  is 
another  myself." 

"  May  I  test  him?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Sechard. 

"  Well,  good-bye  ;  but  send  Madame  Sechard  to  me  ; 
I  must  have  a  power  of  attorney  from  your  wife  as 
well.  And,  my  friend,"  added  Petit-Claud,  warning 
him  thus  of  the  legal  disasters  which  were  about  to 
overtake  him,  "  remember  that  jour  aflfairs  are  all  on 
fire." 

"  Well,  here  I  am,  one  foot  in  Burgundy,  the  other 
in  Champagne,"  thought  Petit-Claud,  after  accompany- 
ing his  friend  David  to  the  door  of  the  office. 


238  Lost  Illusions. 


IV, 


EUREKA. 

Harassed  by  the  anno3'ances  caused  by  loss  of 
money,  distressed  at  the  condition  of  his  wife,  who 
was  overcome  hy  Lucien's  infam}*,  David  still  worked 
on  at  his  problem.  As  he  walked  back  to  his  own 
house  from  Petit-Claud's  office,  he  was  abstractedly 
chewing  a  stalk  of  the  nettles  he  had  been  steeping  in 
water  in  his  attempts  to  discover  a  suitable  material  for 
his  pulp.  His  desire  was  to  find  some  equivalent  to 
the  various  processes  of  maceration  and  webbing  of  all 
that  becomes  thread,  linen,  muslin.  As  he  went  along 
the  streets,  rather  pleased  at  his  conference  with  his 
schoolmate,  he  felt  a  wad  of  something  sticking  upon 
his  teeth.  He  took  it  in  his  hand,  smoothed  it  out, 
and  found  a  pulp  superior  to  any  of  the  compositions 
he  had  hitherto  obtained,  —  for  the  great  difficulty  with 
pulps  made  from  vegetable  matter  is  a  want  of  cohe- 
sion ;  straw,  for  instance,  gives  a  brittle  paper,  that  is 
almost  metallic  and  sonorous.  Such  luck  as  this  fulls 
only  to  the  boldest  searchers  after  natural  causes.  "  I 
must  now,"  he  said,  "  contrive  to  do  by  machinery  and 
some  chemical  agency  what  I  have  just  done  with  my 
jaws." 

He  appeared  before  his  wife  in  all  the  joy  of  his 
belief  in  a  victory. 


Lost  lUmions.  239 

*'  Oh !  my  angel,  don't  be  uneas_y,"  he  cried,  seeing 
that  his  wife  had  been  crying.  "  Petit-Claud  guaran- 
tees us  several  months  of  tranquillit}'.  It  will  cost  me 
something  ;  but,  as  he  said  when  we  parted,  all  French- 
men have  the  right  to  make  their  creditors  wait,  pro- 
vided the}'  end  b}'  paying  capital,  interest,  and  costs  in 
full.     Well,  that  is  just  what  I  shall  do." 

^' And  live  meantime?"  said  poor  Eve,  who  thought 
of  everything. 

"Ah!  true,"  responded  David,  putting  his  hand  to 
his  ear,  with  an  inexplicable  gesture  common  to  per- 
sons who  are  nonplussed. 

"My  mother  can  take  care  of  little  Lucien,"  said  his 
wife,  "and  I  will  work." 

"Eve!  oh,  m}'  Eve!"  cried  David,  taking  his  wife 
in  his  arms  and  pressing  her  to  his  heart.  "Eve,  a 
iew  miles  away  from  here,  at  Saintes,  in  the  sixteenth 
centur}',  one  of  the  greatest  men  of  France  —  for  he 
was  not  only  the  inventor  of  glaze,  he  was  also  the 
glorious  precursor  of  Buffon  and  Cuvier  and  a  geolo- 
gist before  them,  the  simple-minded  soul !  —  Bernard 
Palissy  suffered  the  passion  of  inventors  ;  but  he  had 
his  wife,  his  children,  and  the  whole  neighborhood 
against  him.  His  wife  sold  his  tools.  He  wandered 
about  the  countrj',  misunderstood,  hunted,  sneered  at. 
But  I  — I  am  loved!" 

"Deeply  loved,"  said  Eve,  with  the  placid  expression 
of  a  love  sure  of  itself. 

"  Then  I  can  suffer  all  the  sufferings  of  poor  Bernard 
Palissy,  the  maker  of  the  Ecouen  porcelains,  whom 
Charles  IX.  exempted  from  the  massacre  of  Saint  Bar- 
tholomew.   That  man  gave  at  last,  in  the  presence  of 


240  Lost  Illusions. 

all  Europe,  wlien  he  was  old,  rich,  and  honored,  lectures 
on  what  he  called  the  '  Science  of  P^arths.'  " 

"  As  long  as  ni}'  fingers  can  liold  an  iron  you  shall 
want  for  notliing !  "  cried,  the  poor  wife,  in  tones  of 
the  deepest  devotion.  "  When  I  was  forewoman  at 
Madame  Prieur's  I  had  a  good  little  friend,  Postel's 
cousin.  Her  name  is  Basine  Clerget.  AVell,  Basine, 
who  does  our  washing,  told  me  just  now,  when  she 
brought  it  home,  that  she  is  to  take  Madame  Prieur's 
business  ;   I  will  go  and  work  for  her." 

"Ah!  but  not  for  long,"  replied  Sechard.  "  I  have 
discovered  —  '* 

For  the  first  time  Eve  listened  to  that  sublime  faith 
in  success  which  sustains  inventors  and  gives  them 
strength  to  push  forward  into  the  virgin  forests  of  dis- 
covery with  a  smile  that  was  almost  sad.  David 
dropped  his  head  with  a  disheartened  motion. 

"  Oh  !  my  friend,  I  do  not  ridicule  ;  I  am  not  laughing 
at  you  ;  I  do  not  doubt,"  cried  his  beautiful  Eve,  throw- 
ing herself  on  her  knees  beside  her  husband.  "  But  I 
see  how  riglit  30U  are  to  keep  silence  about  your  hopes, 
3our  experiments.  Yes,  inventors  ought  to  hide  the 
painful  travail  of  their  glory  from  every  one,  even  from 
their  wives,  —  a  wife  is  always  a  woman.  Your  Eve 
could  not  help  smiling  when  she  heard  you  say  for  the 
twentietli  time  within  a  month,  '  I  have  discovered.'  '* 

David  began  to  laugh  so  heartily  himself  that  Eve 
took  his  hand  and  kissed  it  sacredly.  Her  husband's 
grandeur  of  soul,  the  simplicit}'  of  the  inventor,  the 
tears  she  sometimes  surprised  in  the  eves  of  that  man 
of  feeling  and  of  poesy,  developed  in  her  a  force  of  un- 
speakable endurance.     She  had  recourse  once  more  to 


Lost  Illusions.  241 

a  means  which  had  already  been  successful.  She  wrote 
to  Monsieur  Metivier  advertising  the  sale  of  the  print- 
ing-ottice,  offering  to  pay  him  out  of  the  proceeds,  and 
entreating  him  not  to  ruin  David  b}'  useless  costs.  To 
this  letter  Metivier,  as  they  say,  played  dead ;  his  head- 
clerk  answered  that  in  the  absence  of  Monsieur  Meti- 
vier he  could  not  take  upon  himself  to  arrest  the  course 
of  law,  for  it  was  not  his  employer's  custom  to  do  so. 
Eve  then  proposed  to  renew  the  notes  and  pa}'  all  the 
accrued  costs.  This  the  Jiead-clerk  consented  to,  pro- 
vided David's  father  would  be  his  son's  security.  On 
this  Eve  walked  out  to  Marsac,  accompanied  by  her 
mother  and  Kolb.  She  braved  the  old  man  in  his 
vine3'ard  and  was  charming  to  him  ;  she  even  succeeded 
in  smoothing  Ins  frowning  brow  ;  but  when,  with  a 
trembling  heart,  she  spoke  of  the  security,  she  saw  a 
sudden  and  complete  change  come  over  that  vinous 
countenance. 

"  If  I  allowed  my  son  to  lay  a  finger  at  the  edge  of  mj- 
mone3--box  he  would  soon  turn  it  inside  out,  and  grab 
ever}'  penny  I  have,"  cried  the  old  man.  '*•  Children 
always  prey  upon  a  father.  But  I  did  n't ;  I  never  cost 
mine  a  farthing.  Your  printing-room  is  deserted,  —  the 
rats  and  mice  do  the  printing.  You  are  handsome,  you, 
and  I  like  you  ;  you  are  a  hard-working,  careful  woman  ; 
but  m}'  son!  Do  you  know  what  David  is?  "Well, 
he's  a  do-nothing  of  a  student.  If  I  had  drilled  him  as 
thev  drilled  me,  and  not  let  him  learn  his  letters,  and 
made  a  bear  of  him  like  his  father,  he  'd  own  propert}' 
now.  Oh  !  that  bo}',  I  tell  3'ou,  he  's  my  cross  !  And 
unhappily,  he  's  my  only  one,  for  I  can't  have  another  to 
take  his  place.     He  makes  you  unhappy."     (Here  Eve 

16 


242  Lost  Illusions, 

protested  with  a  vehement  gesture  of  denial.)  *'  Yas," 
he  said,  rei)lying  to  her  gesture,  "  you  were  obHged  to 
take  a  wet-nurse,  for  your  milk  dried  up.  I  know  every- 
thing, mind  that ;  you  are  up  before  the  courts,  and  all 
the  town  rings  with  it.  I  was  nothing  but  a  bear,  I 
wasn't  a  learned  man,  nor  foreman  to  the  Didots,  the 
glor}'  of  typography,  —  no,  I  was  n't  any  of  that,  but 
never  did  I  receive  a  bit  of  stamped  paper.  Do  3'ou 
know  what  I  keep  saying  as  I  walk  about  my  vines, 
trimming  them  and  attending  to  my  little  matters?  I 
say  to  myself:  '  Poor  old  fellow,  you  give  yourself  lots 
of  trouble ;  you  la}-  by  crown  after  crown,  and  you  '11 
leave  a  fine  property,  but  it  will  all  go  to  sheriffs  and 
lawyers,  or  to  rubbish,  delusions,  ideas ! '  Look  here, 
my  dear,  you  are  mother  of  that  little  boy  who  looked  to 
me  to  have  his  grandfather's  nose  when  I  held  him  at 
the  font  with  Madame  Chardon  ;  well  now,  I  want  you 
to  think  less  of  David,  and  more  of  that  little  scamp.  I 
have  no  confidence  except  in  3'ou.  You  can,  some  da}' 
or  other,  prevent  the  waste  of  mj'  propert}',  —  my  poor 
property  !  " 

''  But,  dear  papa  Sechard,  jour  son  will  be  j'our 
glorj' ;  you  will  see  him  rich  by  his  own  efforts  with  the 
cross  of  the  Legion  of  honor  in  his  buttonhole." 

"  What  will  he  do  to  get  it?  "  demanded  the  old  man. 

'*  You  will  see.  But,  meanwhile,  how  could  three 
thousand  francs  ruin  you?  For  that  sum  you  could 
prevent  his  arrest.  Well,  if  you  have  no  confidence  in 
him  lend  the  money  to  me ;  I  will  return  it ;  you  can 
put  a  lien  on  my  dowr\'  or  my  work." 

"  David  Sechard  in  danger  of  arrest!  "  cried  tlio  old 
man,  amazed  to  learn  that  what  he  supposed  to  be  a 


Lost  Illusions.  243 

calumn}'  was  true.  '*  This  comes  of  knowing  how  to 
sign  his  name!  And  m}-  rent?  Oh!  I  must  go  into 
Angouleme,  ni}'  girl,  and  see  after  m}''  own  safety,  and 
consult  Cachan,  the  lawyer.  You  did  well  to  come 
here ;    a  man  warned  is  forearmed." 

After  a  struggle  of  two  hours  Eve  was  obliged  to 
come  awa\^  defeated  by  this  unanswerable  argument : 
"Women  know  nothing  about  business."  Having  gone 
with  a  vague  hope  of  succeeding,  the  poor  soul  walked 
back  to  Angouleme  almost  fainting.  She  reached  home 
just  in  time  to  receive  the  notification  of  the  decree 
condemning  Sechard  to  pay  the  whole  sum  to  Metivier. 
In  the  provinces  the  sight  of  a  sheriff  at  a  man's  door 
is  an  event ;  and  Doublon  had  been  too  often  at  David's 
house  for  the  neighborhood  not  to  talk  of  it.  Before 
long,  Eve  was  afraid  to  leave  the  premises,  for  she 
dreaded  the  whisperings  she  heard  as  she  passed  along. 

"Oh,  brother!  brother!"  cried  poor  Eve,  rushing 
into  the  alley  and  upstairs  into  her  bedroom.  "  I  never 
can  forgive  you,  unless  —  " 

"  Alas,  yes!  "  said  David,  who  met  her;  "  he  did  it 
to  avoid  suicide." 

"  Never  let  us  speak  of  him  again,"  she  answered, 
gent]3\  "The  woman  who  led  him  into  that  gulf  of 
Paris  was  very  criminal,  —  and  your  father,  David,  is 
very  pitiless.     Let  us  suffer  in  silence." 

A  discreet  knock  at  the  door  stopped  the  tender 
words  on  David's  lips  and  Marion  presented  herself, 
having  in  tow  the  tall,  stout  Kolb. 

"  Madame,"  she  said,  "Kolb  and  I  see  xery  well 
that  monsieur  and  madame  are  troubled  ;  and  as  we 
own  between  us  eleven  hundred  francs  of  savings,  we 


244  Lost  Illusions. 

thought  they  couldn  't  be  ])etter  placed  than  in  nia- 
dame's  hands  —  " 

"  Madame's  hands!"  echoed  Kolb,  enthusiastically. 

"  Kolb,"  cried  David,  "  3'ou  and  I  will  never  part. 
Take  a  thousand  francs  on  account  to  Cachan,  the 
lawyer,  and  ask  for  a  receipt;  we  will  keep  the  rest. 
Kolb,  let  no  human  power  get  out  of  you  one  word  as 
to  what  I  am  doing,  or  about  my  absence  from  home, 
or  what  you  ma}"  see  me  bring  back ;  and  when  I  send 
you  to  look  for  herbs  —  you  know?  —  don't  let  any  hu- 
man eye  watch  you.  .  They  will  try,  m}-  good  Kolb,  to 
make  you  betray  me  ;  the}'  may  offer  you  a  thousand, 
perhaps  ten  thousand  francs  —  " 

"  They  may  offer  me  millions  and  I  sha'n't  say  one 
word,"  replied  Kolb.  "  Don't  I  know  army  regula- 
tions?" 

*'I  have  warned  you ;  now  go  and  ask  Monsieur 
Petit-Claud  to  assist  in  making  the  payment  to  Mon- 
sieur Cachan." 

''  Yes,"  said  the  Alsacian,  "  and  I  hope  I  '11  some  day 
be  rich  enough  to  punch  his  head  for  him,  that  man  of 
law.     I  don't  like  his  looks." 

"  Kolb  is  a  good  man,  madame,"  said  the  stout 
Marion.  "He  is  strong  as  a  Turk,  and  quiet  as  11 
lamb.  He  's  one  to  make  a  woman  happy.  It  was  he 
who  first  thought  of  investing  our  savings  this  way  ;  he 
calls  thoni  his  '  cache.'  Poor  man  !  if  he  speaks  ill,  he 
thinks  well  ;  and  I  know  what  he  means  all  the  same. 
He  thinks  he  had  better  go  and  work  for  others,  so  as 
not  to  cost  you  anything." 

"  I  would  like;  to  be  rich  if  only  to  reward  such  faith- 
ful hearts,"  said  David  to  his  wife. 


Lost  Illusions.  245 

Eve  thought  it  all  simple  enough  ;  she  was  not  sur- 
prised to  meet  with  souls  that  were  on  the  level  of  her 
own.  Her  way  of  taking  this  service  would  have  ex- 
plained the  nobilit}'  of  her  character  to  the  dullest  and 
even  to  the  most  indifferent  mind. 

"  You  will  be  rich  some  da}',  monsieur ;  your  bread 
is  baked,"  cried  Marion.  "  Your  father  has  just  bought 
a  farm,  and  that  will  be  a  good  income  for  you,  sooner 
or  later." 

Under  existing  circumstances,  this  speech  made  by 
Marion  to  lessen  the  merit  of  her  action  shows  an 
exquisite  delicac}'. 

Like  all  things  human,  French  legal  procedure  has  its 
vices  ;  nevertheless,  the  sword  of  justice  being  two- 
edged,  it  serves  for  defence  as  well  as  for  attack.  Be- 
sides, it  has  this  advantage  ;  if  two  lawyers  come  to  an 
understanding  (and  the}'  can  do  that  without  words, 
simply  by  their  comprehension  of  each  other's  method 
of  proceeding  in  a  given  case),  a  suit  may  be  made  to 
resemble  the  warfare  of  the  first  Marshal  Biron,  the 
nature  of  which  he  defined  when  his  son  proposed,  at 
the  siege  of  Rouen,  a  plan  by  which  the  city  could  be 
taken  in  two  days.  "  Why  are  3'ou  in  such  a  hurry  to 
go  and  plant  3'our  cabbages,"  said  the  marshal.  Two 
generals  can  prolong  a  war  indefinitely  b}'  bringing 
nothing  to  a  crisis  and  sparing  their  troops  ;  like  the 
Austrian  generals  whom  the  Aulic  council  never  repri- 
manded for  missing  an  important  junction  in  order  to 
let  the  soldiers  eat  their  soup.  Maitre  Cachan,  Petit- 
Claud,  and  Doublou  now  behaved  even  better  than  the 
Austrian  generals  ;  the}'  followed  the  example  of  an 
Austrian  of  antiquity,  —  Fabius  Cunctator. 


246  Lost  Illusions. 

Petit-Claud,  spiteful  as  a  mule,  had  soon  seen  all  the 
advantages  of  his  position.  After  the  payment  of  costs 
was  secured  to  him  b}'  the  tall  Cointet,  he  determined 
to  double  on  Cachan  and  make  his  own  genius  shine  in 
the  e3'es  of  the  paper-maker  by  creating  incidents  and 
items  which  should  fall  to  the  account  of  Metivier. 
Unhappily  for  the  fame  of  this  young  Figaro  of  the 
buskin,  the  historian  must  pass  over  the  ground  of  his 
exploits  as  though  he  were  stepping  on  live  coals.  A 
single  bill  of  costs,  such  as  that  alread}'  made  in  Paris, 
must  suffice  for  this  historj'  of  contemporaneous  man- 
ners and  customs.  We  must  imitate  the  style  of  the 
bulletins  of  the  Grand  Army  ;  for  the  more  rapidh' 
Petit-Claud's  performances  are  enumerated,  the  better 
this  exclusivelj'  legal  page  will  be. 

Summoned,  July  3,  before  the  Court  of  Commerce  of 
Angouleme,  David  did  not  appear.  Judgment  by  de- 
fault was  notified  to  him  on  the  8th.  On  the  10th 
Doublon  issued  a  writ,  and  on  the  12th  he  attempted  to 
put  in  an  execution ;  which  Petit-Claud,  on  David's  be- 
half, resisted,  summoning  in  turn  Metivier.  On  the 
other  hand,  Metivier,  thinking  the  dela}'  too  great, 
summoned  David  again  and  obtained,  on  the  19th,  a 
judgment  which  overruled  David's  opposition.  This 
judgment,  served  on  the  21st,  authorized  an  injunction 
on  the  22d,  a  notice  of  arrest  on  the  23d,  and  a  proces- 
verbal  of  the  execution  on  the  24th.  This  hasty  execu- 
tion was  arrested  b}-  Petit-Claud,  who  lodged  an  appeal 
to  the  Royal  Court.  This  appeal,  renewed  on  the  25th, 
brought  ]M('tivicr  to  Poitiers. 

*'  Well,"  said  Petit-Claud  to  himself,  ''  here  we  shall 
stick  for  some  time." 


Lost  Illusions.  247 

The  storm  having  passed  over  to  Poitiers  into  the 
hands  of  a  solicitor  of  the  Royal  Court  to  whom  Petit- 
Claud  gave  private  instructions,  this  new  defender  with 
a  double  face  made  Madame  Sechard  summon  David 
Sechard  for  a  separation  of  propert}'.  To  use  an  ex- 
pression of  the  law  courts  he  "  diligented  "  the  process 
of  obtaining  this  decree  of  separation  ;  on  the  28th  of 
Jul}'  he  inserted  it  in  the  ''Courrier  de  Charente,"  and 
on  the  1st  of  August  an  affidavit  was  made  before  a 
notary  of  a  schedule  of  Madame  Sechard's  accounts, 
which  made  her  the  creditor  of  her  husband  in  the  small 
sum  of  ten  thousand  francs,  which  David  on  his  mar- 
riage had  settled  upon  her,  and  for  the  payment  of 
which  he  now  made  over  to  her  the  contents  of  his 
printing-room  and  the  furniture  of  his  house. 

While  Petit-Claud  was  thus  protecting  the  family  be- 
longings he  was  putting  forward  successfull}'  in  Poitiers 
the  claim  on  which  he  based  his  appeal.  According  to 
him,  David  was  the  less  liable  for  the  costs  made  in  Paris 
on  Lucien  de  Rubempre's  account  because  the  court  there 
had  put  them  on  Metivier.  This  view,  adopted  by  the 
court  at  Poitiers,  was  followed  bj'  a  judgment  reaffirming 
that  of  the  court  in  Paris,  by  which  David  Sechard  was 
condemned  to  pay  all,  less  the  six  hundred  francs  of 
costs  laid  to  Metivier.  Petit-Claud  opposed  this  judg- 
ment in  the  name  of  Madame  Sechard,  claimino:  the 
personal  property  and  furniture  as  belonging  to  the  wife, 
who  was  duly  separated  in  estate  from  her  husband. 
Moreover,  Petit- Claud  called  as  witness  the  elder  Se- 
chard, who  had  b}'  that  time  become  his  client,  -as  we 
shall  now  see. 

The  day  after  the  visit  of  his  daughter-in-law  the  old 


248  Lost  Illusions. 

man  went  to  his  lawyer  in  Angoulerae,  Maitre  Cachan, 
and  demanded  to  know  what  means  he  should  take  to 
recover  his  rents,  which  he  was  in  danger  of  losing 
through  the  difficulties  his  son  had  got  into. 

"  I  can't  appear  for  the  father  while  suing  the  son," 
said  Cachan ;  "go  and  see  Petit-Claud  ;  he  is  very 
clever  ;  he  will  probably  serve  you  better  than  I  coukl." 

When  Cachan  met  Petit-Claud  in  the  courtroom  he 
said  to  him:  "I  have  sent  you  old  Sechard ;  take 
charge  of  the  case  for  me  in  exchange." 

Law3^ers  often  render  such  services  to  each  other, 
both  in  Paris  and  the  provinces. 

The  da}-  after  old  Sechard  had  explained  himself  to 
Petit-Claud,  Boniface  Cointet  came  to  see  his  accom- 
plice, and  hearing  of  the  old  man's  visit  remarked, 
"  Try  to  teach  that  old  Sechard  a  lesson.  He  is  a  man 
who  will  never  forgive  his  son  for  costing  him  a  thou- 
sand francs  ;  this  outla}-  will  dr}'  up  an}-  generous  feel- 
ing in  his  heart  —  if  he  ever  has  any  !  " 

"  Go  back  to  3'our  vines, '^  said  Petit-Claud  to  his  new 
client  the  next  day  ;  "  your  son  is  badly  pinched  —  don't 
be  too  eager  to  eat  from  his  plate.  I  '11  send  for  you 
when  the  time  comes." 

Petit-Claud  now  claimed  in  the  name  of  old  Sechard 
that  the  presses  themselves  were  fixtures,  on  the  ground 
that  the  house  had  been  used  as  a  printing-office  from 
tlie  time  of  Louis  XIV.  Cachan  denied  the  claim  on 
behalf  of  Metivier,  who,  after  finding  in  Paris  that  Lu- 
cien's  furniture  belonged  to  his  mistress,  now  found  in 
Angouir-me  that  David's  property  bolongcnl  to  his  wife 
and  fathei".  Caclian  then  summoned  thi'  father  and  son 
before  the  court  to  settle  such  pretensions. 


Lost  Illusions.  249 

"We  are  resolved,"  he  cried,  "to  unmask  the  frauds 
of  these  men  who  entrench  tliemselves  behind  dishonest 
ramparts  ;  who  turn  the  simplest  and  plainest  aitioles 
of  the  Code  into  spiked  walls,  and  for  what?  —  to  avoid 
paying  three  thousand  francs  ;  how  obtained  ?  —  stolen 
from  Metivier !  And  jet  the\'  dare  to  blame  the  bro- 
kers !  Such  are  the  times  we  live  in  !  Let  me  hope  that 
you  will  not  by  jour  judgment  sanction  a  claim  which 
would  make  the  law  immoral  to  the  core !  " 

The  court  of  Angouleme,  moved  by  Cachan's  fine  ora- 
tor}', rendered  a  divided  judgment,  giving  the  ownership 
of  the  actual  furniture  to  Madame  Se'chard,  but  denying 
the  claim  of  the  elder  Sechard,  and  condemning  him  to 
pa}'  four  hundred  and  thirty-four  francs  sixty-five  cen- 
times costs. 

"Old  Sechard,"  said  the  lawyers  to  each  other,  laugh- 
ing, "  insisted  on  putting  his  finger  into  the  pie,  and 
he'll  have  to  pay  for  it." 

August  26  the  notice  of  this  judgment  was  served  so 
that  the  presses  and  other  implements  of  the  printing- 
office  might  be  seized  on  the  28th.  Placards  were  affixed, 
and  an  order  issued  to  sell  the  property  on  the  prem- 
ises. The  announcement  of  the  sale  was  inserted  in 
the  newspapers,  and  Doublon  flattered  himself  he  could 
proceed  to  the  examination  and  auction  on  September  2. 
B}'  that  time  David  Sechard  owed,  legally,  for  notes  and 
and  costs,  a  sum  total  of  five  thousand  two  hundred 
and  sixt3'-five  francs  and  twent^'-five  centimes —  not  in- 
cluding interest.  He  owed  besides  to  Petit-Claud  twelve 
hundred  francs  and  the  fees,  which  were  left  to  David's 
generosit}',  —  with  the  noble  confidence  of  cabmen  who 
drive  you  briskly  on  expectation.  Madame  Sechard 
owed   Petit-Claud  three  hiindi-ed  and  fiftv  francs  and 


250  Lo^t  Illusions. 

bis  fees.  Old  Se'chard  owed  him  four  linndred  and 
thirty -four  francs  for  costs,  and  Petit-Claud  asked  him 
three  hundred  francs  more  for  fees.  Thus  the  whole 
sum  o,wed  b}-  the  Sechards  amounted  by  this  time  to 
about  ten  thousand  francs. 

Apart  from  the  utilit}'  of  these  details  to  foreign 
nations,  who  ma}'  here  see  how  the  artillery  of  French 
law  is  brought  to  bear,  it  is  useful  that  the  legislator 
(if  indeed  legislators  have  the  time  to  read),  should 
know  the  extent  of  these  abuses.  A  law  ought  to  l)e 
passed  which  should,  in  certain  cases,  forbid  solicitors 
to  run  up  bills  of  costs  which  often  exceed  the  sum 
that  is  the  object  of  the  suit.  The  reader  will  compre- 
hend, from  this  dry  statement  of  the  phases  through 
"which  such  cases  pass,  the  meaning  and  value  of  the 
wovds^  /arm,  legal  justice^  costs,  of  which  the  majority 
of  Frenchmen  have  little  or  no  idea.  The  following 
will  serve  to  show  what  in  legal  slang  is  called  set- 
ting fire  to  a  man's  atlairs.  The  ty[)e  in  the  printing- 
room,  weighing  about  live  thousand  pounds,  was  worth 
for  recasting  about  two  thousand  francs.  The  three 
presses  might  bring  six  hundred  francs.  The  rest  of 
the  utensils  could  only  be  sold  for  old  iron  or  old  wood. 
The  household  furniture  would  produce  at  the  utmost  a 
thousand  francs.  Therefore,  on  property-  belonging  to 
David  Sechard  and  amounting  to  about  four  thousand 
francs,  Cachan  and  Petit-Claud  claimed  seven  thousand, 
witliout  estimating  the  futui-e  which  promised  tine  fruits 
in  bills  of  costs,  as  we  shall  [)resentl3'  see.  Certaiuh' 
the  legal  practitioners  of  France  and  Navarre,  and  even 
tliose  of  Normandy,  ouglit  to  bestow  their  esteem  and 
admiration  on  Petit-Claud  ;  thougli  persons  of  better  feel- 
ing may  drop  a  tear  of  sympathy  for  Kolb  and  Marion. 


Lost  Illusions.  251 

During  this  legal  warfare  Kolb  conlcl  be  found  when- 
ever David  did  not  want  him,  seated  on  a  chair  in  the 
alley-way,  fulfilling  the  duties  of  a  watch-dog.  He  re- 
ceived the  legal  papers,  which  were  always  exajmined 
besides  by  a  clerk  of  Petit-Claud's.  When  the  placards 
were  aflixed  to  the  house  announcing  the  sale  of  the 
material  of  the  printing-office  Kolb  pulled  them  down 
as  soon  as  the  bill-sticker's  back  was  turned,  exclaim- 
ing:  ''The  scoundrels!  tormenting  such  a  good  man! 
And  they  call  that  law  and  justice  !  "  Marion  earned 
ten  sous  during  the  morning  bj'  turning  the  crank  in  a 
neighboring  paper-mill  and  she  spent  them  on  the  daily 
expenses  of  the  family.  Madame  Chardon  returned 
without  a  murmur  to  the  hard  life  of  a  monthly  nurse 
and  brought  her  daughter  her  earnings  at  the  end  of 
every  week.  She  had  made  two  neuvaines,  and  was 
amazed  to  find  God  deaf  to  her  praj'ers  and  blind  to 
the  light  of  the  candles  she  burned  to  him, 

September  2  Eve  received  the  only  letter  which 
Lucien  wrote  after  the  one  in  which  he  announced  hav- 
ing put  into  circulation  the  three  forged  notes. —  a 
letter  which  David  Sechard  never  showed  to  his  wife. 

''  This  IS  onl}'  the  third  letter  I  have  had  from  him 
since  he  left  us,"  thought  the  poor  sister,  hesitating  be- 
fore she  opened  the  fatal  paper.  At  the  moment  she 
was  feeding  her  child,  whom  she  was  now  bringing  np 
on  a  bottle,  being  forced  to  dismiss  her  wet-nurse  on 
account  of  the  expense.  We  can  judge  of  the  state 
into  which  the  following  letter  threw  her,  and  also 
David,  whom  she  roused  from  his  sleep  ;  for  after  pass- 
ing the  night  in  making  paper,  the  inventor  had  gone  to 
bed  at  davbreak. 


252  Lost  Illusions. 

Paris,  August  20. 
My  dear   Sister,  — 

Two  days  ago,  at  five  in  the  morning,  I  received  the  last 
sigh  of  one  of  God's  most  beautiful  creations,  —  the  only 
woman  who  could  love  me  as  you  love  me,  as  David  and  my 
mother  loved  me;  joining  to  those  disinterested  feelings 
that  which  a  mother  and  a  sister  cannot  give,  the  joys  of 
love.  After  sacrificing  everything  for  my  sake  my  poor 
Coralie  may  perhaps  have  died  for  me  —  for  me  who  have 
not  at  this  moment  enough  to  bury  her.  She  consoled 
me  in  life ;  you  alone,  my  dear  angels,  can  console  me  for 
her  death.  This  innocent  girl  was,  I  believe,  forgiven  by 
God,  for  she  died  a  Christian  death.  Oh,  Paris !  —  Eve, 
Paris  is  the  glory  but  also  the  infamy  of  France ;  I  have  lost 
many  of  my  illusions  here ;  and  I  shall  lose  many  more  in 
begging  for  the  paltry  sum  I  need  to  lay  the  body  of  that 
angel  in  holy  ground. 

Your  wretched  brother, 

LrciEN. 

P.  S.  I  have  caused  you  much  unhappiness  by  my  con- 
duct :  you  will  know  all  some  day,  and  you  will  forgive  me. 
You  may  feel  easy  about  those  notes ;  a  worthy  man  to 
whom  I  have  caused  much  cruel  suffering,  seeing  Coralie 
and  me  so  troubled,  has  promised  to  arrange  everything. 

"  The  letter  is  still  moist  with  his  tears,"  she  said  to 
David,  looking  at  it  with  such  pity  that  some  of  her  old 
aflfection  for  Lucien  shone  in  her  eyes. 

"  Poor  lad  !  he  must  indeed  siitTer  if  he  was  loved  as 
he  says  he  was,"  said  the  happy  husband. 

Plusband  and  wife  forgot  their  own  troubles  before 
that  cry  of  anguish.  Just  tlien  Marion  rushed  into 
the  room  exclaiming,  "Madame!  here  the^' are  !  here 
they  are !  " 

"Who?" 


Lost  Illusions.  253 

"  Doublon  and  his  men,  the  devils  !  Kolb  is  fighting 
them  ;  the}'  have  come  to  sell  everything." 

"  Xo,  no,  they  will  not  sell;  don't  be  anxious,"  said 
Petit-Claud,  calling  from  the  adjoining  room.  ''  I  have 
given  notice  of  an  appeal.  AVe  must  not  remain  pas- 
sive under  a  judgment  which  convicts  us  of  dishonest}-. 
I  thouglit  best  not  to  defend  you  in  court  here  in  An- 
gouleme.  To  gain  time  I  allowed  Cachan  to  speechify  ; 
but  I  am  certain  of  success  at  Poitiers." 

''But  how  much  will  that  success  cost?"  asked 
Madame  Sechard. 

"Fees  if  you  win,  and  a  thousand  francs  in  costs  if 
we  lose." 

"Good  God  I "  cried  poor  Eve,  "the  remed}'  is 
worse  than  the  disease." 

Hearing  this  cr}'  of  innocence  suddenly  alive  to 
judicial  wrong,  Petit-Claud  stood  confused.  Eve 
seemed  to  him  very  beautiful. 

Old  Sechard,  for  whom  Petit-Claud  had  sent,  now 
arrived.  The  presence  of  the  old  man  in  the  bedroom 
of  his  children,  where  his  grandson  in  the  cradle  was 
smiling  at  disaster,  made  the  scene  complete. 

"Papa  Sechard,"  said  the  young  law\'er,  "  you  owe 
me  seven  hundred  francs  for  that  demurrer,  but  j-ou 
m^y  claim  them  from  your  son  and  add  them  to  the 
amount  of  the  rent  now  due." 

The  old  man  caught  the  keen  irony  which  Petit-Claud 
put  into  his  tone  and  manner  as  he  said  the  words. 

"  It  would  have  cost  you  less  had  you  given  that 
security  for  your  son  wlien  I  asked  you  for  it,"  said 
Eve,  leaving  the  cradle  of  her  child  to  come  and  kiss 
the  old  man. 


254  Lost  Illusions. 

David,  overcome  at  the  sight  of  the  crowd  collecting 
before  the  house,  drawn  there  by  the  struggle  between 
Kolb  and  the  sheriff's  men,  held  out  his  hand  to  his 
father  without  a  word. 

"  How  is  it  possible  for  me  to  owe  3-ou  seven  hun- 
dred francs?  "  said  the  old  man  to  Petit-Claud. 

"  In  the  first  place,  because  I  appeared  for  3-ou.  As 
the  matter  concerns  your  rents  you  are  conjointly  liable 
with  your  son  in  paying  me.  If  3'our  son  does  not  pay 
these  costs  you  must  paj^  them.  But  that 's  nothing ; 
in  a  few  hours  David  will  be  arrested  and  put  in 
prison  ;  will  you  allow  that?  " 

"How  much  does  he  owe?  " 

"  Something  like  five  or  six  thousand  francs  ;  with- 
out counting  w^hat  he  owes  to  3'ou,  and  what  he  owes  to 
his  wife." 

The  old  man  instantly  became  distrustful ;  he  looked 
round  on  the  scene  before  him  in  the  blue  and  white 
room,  —  a  beautiful  woman  weeping  beside  a  cradle, 
David  bending  beneath  the  weight  of  his  troubles,  the 
law3'er,  who  had  probably  drawn  him  into  a  trap  ;  and 
he  felt  convinced  that  his  ftitherly  feelings  were  being- 
worked  upon  ;  he  believed  they  were  taking  advantage 
of  his  paternity. 

"  He3' !  let  David  get  out  of  his  scrape  as  best  he 
can.  As  for  me,  I  think  only  of  that  child,"  cried  the 
old  grandfather,  "  and  his  mother  will  approve  of  that. 
David  is  so  learned  he  ought  to  know  how  to  pa3'  his 
del)ts." 

"I'll  put  the  meaning  of  that  into  good  French," 
said  the  lawyer,  sarcastically.  *'  Papa  Sechard,  you 
are  jealous  of  your  son.     Listen  to  the  truth  :  you  have 


Lost  Illusions.  255 

brought  David  into  his  present  position  b}-  selHng  him 
your  printing-house  for  three  times  what  it  was  worth, 
and  by  ruining  him  to  get  that  usurious  price.  Oh  yes, 
you  ma}'  shake  your  head,  but  the  journal  which  you 
sold  to  the  Cointets,  the  money  for  which  you  pocketed 
entire,  was  more  than  the  whole  value  of  the  printing- 
house.  You  hate  3'our  son  not  onl}'  because  you  have 
despoiled  him,  but  because  you  have  made  him  a  man 
far  above  j-ourself.  You  pretend  to  love  3'our  grandson 
to  mask  your  unkindness  to  j'our  son  and  daughter-in- 
law,  who  would  cost  you  something  hie  et  nunc,  whereas 
your  grandson  only  needs  your  post-mortem  affection. 
You  love  the  little  lad  solel}'  to  appear  to  love  some  one 
in  your  family  and  avoid  being  called  unfeeling.  That 
sifts  you  out,  Papa  Sechard.'^ 

"  Did  you  bring  me  here  to  listen  to  all  that?  "  said 
old  Sechard  in  a  threatening  tone,  looking  at  the  lawj'er 
and  his  son  and  daughter-in  law  in  turn. 

''Oh,  monsieur!"  cried  poor  Eve,  addressing  Petit- 
Claud  ;  "  have  you  sworn  our  ruin?  My  husband  has 
never,  never  complained  of  his  father."  The  old  man 
looked  at  her  askance.  "  He  has  told  me  a  hundred 
times  that  you  loved  him,  after  your  own  fashion,''  she 
said  to  old  Sechard,  understanding  his  distrust. 

Following  Cointet's  directions,  Petit-Claud  had  man- 
aged to  anger  the  father  against  the  son  in  order  to 
prevent  the  old  man  from  helping  David  out  of  the 
cruel  position  in  which  he  was. 

"  On  the  day  when  we  get  David  into  prison,"  Boni- 
face Cointet  had  said  to  Petit-Claud,  "you  shall  be 
presented  to  Madame  de  Senonches." 

The   instinctive   intelligence   which   comes   of  deep 


256  Lost  Illusions. 

affection  enlightened  Madame  Sechard  about  Petit- 
Claud's  treachery  as  it  did,  once  before,  about  Cerizet. 
We  can  imagine  David's  surprise  at  Petit-Claud's  speech  ; 
he  could  not  understand  how  the  law3'er  knew  his  fathei 
and  his  affairs  so  well.  The  honest  printer  knew  nothing 
of  his  counsel's  intercourse  with  the  Cointets ;  and  he 
was  also  ignorant  that  the  Cointets  were  proceeding 
against  him  in  the  skin  of  Metivier.  His  son's  silence 
was  an  offence  to  the  old  man.  Under  cover  of  his 
client's  astonishment  Petit-Claud  took  leave. 

''Adieu!  m}'  dear  David,"  he  said.  "An  arrest 
won't  be  delayed  b}-  the  appeal ;  it  is  the  only  course 
open  to  3'our  creditors,  and  the}'  will  take  it.  There- 
fore, get  awa}'  at  once.  Or  rather,  if  you  will  take 
m}'  advice,  go  and  see  the  Cointets ;  they  have  capital, 
and  if  3'our  discover^'  is  really  made,  if  3'ou  are  quite 
sure  about  it,  the}'  are,  after  all,  kindly  men  —  '* 

''  What  discovery?"  asked  old  Sechard. 

''  Do  you  think  your  son  fool  enough  to  neglect  the 
printing  business  unless  he  was  thinking  of  something 
else?"  cried  the  lawyer.  "  He  is  on  the  high-road,  so 
he  tells  me,  to  make  paper  for  three  francs  a  ream 
which  is  now  costing  ten." 

*'  Another  scheme  to  take  me  in  !  "  cried  the  old 
man.  "You  are  all  banded  together  like  tliievcs  at  a 
fair.  If  David  has  discovered  tliat,  he  has  no  need  of 
me.  He  's  a  millionnaire.  Adieu,  my  young  friends, 
and  good-day  to  you." 

So  saying  the  old  man  departed  down  the  stairs. 

"  Put  yourself  in  hiding,"  said  Petit-Claud  to  David, 
as  he  started  to  overtake  old  Sechard  and  exasperate 
him  still  further. 


Lost  Illusions.  257 

The  little  lawTer  found  him  grumbling  on  the  place 
du  Murier,  and  walked  with  him  as  far  as  I'lloumeau, 
where  he  left  him  witli  the  threat  of  putting  in  an  execu- 
tion on  the  old  man's  property  if  the  costs  were  not 
paid  within  a  week. 

"  I  will  pa}'  you,  if  you  will  show  me  the  legal  means 
of  disinheriting  my  son  without  injuring  my  grandson 
and  daughter-in-law,"  said  old  Sechard,  as  they  parted. 

"How  well  Cointet  knows  people!  Ha!  he  was 
right  enough ;  those  seven  hundred  francs  will  keep 
that  old  man  from  helping  his  son,"  said  the  little  law- 
yer, as  he  climbed  back  to  Angouleme.  "  Nevertheless 
I  don't  mean  to  be  outwitted  b}*  that  slyboots  of  a 
paper-maker ;  it  is  time  to  make  him  give  me  some- 
thing more  than  words." 

"Well,  David,  dear  friend,  what  do  3-ou  think  of 
doing?''  said  Eve  to  her  husband,  when  the  old  man 
and  Petit-Claud  had  left  them. 

"  Put  3-our  biggest  pot  on  the  fire,  my  girl,"  cried 
David,  nodding  to  Marion;  "I  have  my  discovery  in 
hand  at  last." 

Hearing  these  words  Eve  put  on  her  bonnet  and 
shawl  and  shoes  with  feverish  haste. 

"Get  ready,"  she  said  to  Kolb,  "and  go  with  me; 
for  I  must  and  will  find  some  escape  from  this  hell." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Marion,  when  Eve  had  gone,  ''do 
be  reasonable,  or  madame  will  die  of  grief.  Earn 
enough  money  to  paj'  what  you  owe,  and  then  you  can 
search  for  treasure  at  3'our  ease." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Marion;  the  last  difficulty  is 
just  about  to  be  overcome.  I  shall  be  able  to  get  both 
a  patent  for  invention  and  a  patent  for  improvements." 

17 


258  Lo§t  Illusions. 

The  cross  of  French  inventors  is  the  patent  for  im- 
provements. A  man  passes  ten  jears  of  his  life  in 
seeking  some  industrial  secret,  —  a  machine,  or  some 
other  discovery ;  he  takes  out  a  patent,  and  thinks 
himself  master  of  his  invention,  whatever  it  is ;  he  is 
followed  by  a  competitor  who,  if  he  has  not  foreseen 
everything,  will  improve  his  invention  with  some  screw 
or  bolt,  and  get  the  whole  value  of  the  discovery  out 
of  his  hands.  Therefore,  to  invent  a  new  pulp  for 
making  paper  cheaply  was  far  from  being  all  that  was 
necessary.  Others  could  improve  the  process.  David 
Sechard  wished  to  foresee  ever3'thing  in  order  that  a 
fortune  pursued  under  so  many  difficulties  might  not 
be  torn  from  his  grasp.  Holland  paper  (this  name  is 
still  given  to  paper  made  of  linen,  though  Holland  no 
longer  manufactures  it)  is  slightly  sized  ;  but  the  size 
is  applied,  sheet  by  sheet,  b}'  manual  labor,  which  of 
course  increases  the  cost  of  the  paper.  If  it  could  be 
made  possible  to  size  the  pulp  in  the  vat  with  some  in- 
expensive size  (such  as  that  we  now  use,  though  that 
is  still  imperfect)  there  need  be  no  fear  of  improvement- 
For  a  month  past  David  had  been  seeking  a  method  to 
size  his  paste.     Two  had  occurred  to  him. 

Eve  had  gone  to  see  her  mother.  Madame  Cliardon 
was  then  nursing  the  wife  of  a  deputy -magistrate  who 
had  just  given  an  heir  presumptive  to  the  Minards  of 
Nevers.  Eve  determined  to  consult  this  legal  defender 
of  widows  and  ori)hans  on  her  position,  and  ask  him 
whether  she  could  free  David  from  his  embarrassments 
by  taking  them  upon  herself  and  selling  her  dower 
rights  ;  she  iilso  liopcd  to  discover  the  truth  as  to  Petit- 
Claud's  ambiguous  conduct. 


Lost  Illusions.  259 

The  magistrate,  surprised  by  Madame  Sechard's 
beauty,  received  her  not  only  with  the  respect  due  to  a 
woman,  but  with  a  sort  of  courtesy  to  which  poor  P2ve 
was  not  accustomed.  She  saw  in  the  eyes  of  this  official 
an  expression  which,  since  her  marriage,  she  had  found 
in  none  but  those  of  Kolb ;  an  expression  that,  to 
women  as  beautiful  as  Eve,  is  the  criterium  by  which 
they  judge  of  men.  When  a  passion,  or  self-interest,  or 
age  dims  in  the  e3'es  of  a  man  the  sparkle  of  devotion 
which  flames  there  in  youth,  a  woman  begins  to  distrust 
that  man  and  to  watch  him.  The  Cointets,  Petit- 
ClaudjCerizet,  all  men  whom  Eve  had  felt  to  be  enemies, 
looked  at  her  with  cold,  hard  eyes ;  but  now  she  sud- 
denly felt  at  ease  with  this  magistrate,  though  after  re- 
ceiving her  courteoush'  he  destroyed  in  a  few  words  all 
her  hopes. 

"  It  is  not  certain,  madame,"  he  said,  '*  that  the 
Ro\al  Court  will  sustain  the  judgment  confirming  the 
transfer  your  husband  made  to  3'ou  of  his  goods  and 
chattels  to  pay  your  dower.  Your  privileges  will  not 
be  allowed  to  cover  a  fraud.  But  as  you  will  then  be 
admitted  under  the  head  of  creditor  to  share  in  the 
proceeds  of  the  seizure,  and  as  your  father-in-law  will 
have  the  same  rights  in  view  of  the  rent  due.  there  will 
be  matter  for  further  litigation  about  what  we  call  in 
legal  terms  a  Contribution — in  other  words,  the  sche- 
dule by  which  the  creditors  are  paid." 

"Then  Monsieur  Petit-Claud  is  ruining  us?*'  she 
said. 

"  The  conduct  of  Petit-Claud,"  said  the  magistrate, 
*'  carries  out  your  husband's  desire  to  gain  time.  To 
my  thinking,  it  would  be  better  to  desist  from  appeal- 


260  Lost  Illusions. 

ing,  and  to  buy  in,  you  and  your  father-in  law,  when- 
ever the  sale  takes  place,  the  necessary  utensils  to  carry 
on  your  business, —  3'ou,  to  the  extent  of  what  is  legally 
yours,  he  for  the  amount  of  his  rent.  But  your  law- 
yers will  think  this  bringing  matters  to  an  end  too 
soon.     They  are  running  you  up  a  bill  of  costs." 

"  I  should  then  be  in  the  hands  of  Monsieur  Sechard, 
the  elder,  to  whom  I  should  owe  a  rent  for  the  utensils 
as  well  as  for  the  house  ;  m}'  husband  would  still  be 
sued  by  Monsieur  Metivier,  who  will  have  received 
nothing." 

"  That  is  true,  raadame." 

"  Then  our  position  would  be  worse  than  it  is  now." 

"  The  law  sustains  the  creditor.  You  received  three 
thousand  francs  ;  it  obliges  3'ou  to  return  them." 

"  Oh  !   monsieur,  do  not  think  that  w^e  —  " 

She  stopped  short,  seeing  the  danger  that  her  self- 
justification  might  bring  upon  her  brother. 

"I  know  verv  well,"  said  the  magistrate,  "  that  this 
affair  is  obscure,  both  on  the  side  of  the  debtors,  who 
are  honorable,  scrupulous,  I  may  say  grand,  and  on 
the"  side  of  the  creditor  who  is  only  a  cat's-paw."  Eve 
looked  at  the  magistrate  in  bewilderment.  "  You 
must  know,"  he  went  on,  with  a  look  of  kindly  shrewd- 
ness, "that  we  deputies  have  plenty  of  time  to  reflect 
on  what  is  passing  before  our  eyes,  while  hstenmg  to 
the  pleadings  of  the  law3'ers." 

Eve  came  home  in  despair  at  the  uselcssness  of  all 
efforts. 

At  seven  o'clock  that  evening  Doublon  brought  the 
notification  of  imprisonment  for  debt.  The  persecution 
had  reached  its  heiijfht. 


LoH  Illusions.  261 

^' After  to-morrow,*'  said  David,  *'  I  can  go  out  onl}' 
at  night." 

Eve  and  her  mother  burst  into  tears.  To  them  it 
seemed  dishonor  to  be  in  hiding.  Kolb  and  Marion, 
learning  of  their  master's  danger,  were  all  the  more 
alarmed  because  the}'  had  long  understood  his  guileless 
nature  ;  and  they  trembled  for  his  safety  so  much  that 
the}'  went  together  to  find  Madame  Chardon,  Eve,  and 
David,  under  pretence  of  asking  whether  the}'  could  do 
anything  to  assist  him.  They  came  into  the  room  just 
as  the  wife  and  the  mother,  to  whom  life  had  hitherto 
been  so  simple,  were  weeping  at  the  necessity  of  hiding 
David.  How  escape  the  invisible  spies  who,  from 
this  time  forth,  would  watch  every  movement  of  this 
man,  unhappily  so  absent-minded? 

"  If  madame  will  wait  one  little  quarter  of  an  hour," 
said  Kolb,  "I'll  make  a  reconnaissance  into  the 
enemy's  camp.  She  shall  see  what  I  can  do  ;  for  though 
I  look  like  a  German,  I  'm  a  true  Frenchman  for  tricks." 

''Oh!  madame,"  said  Marion,  "let  him  do  what  he 
wants  :  his  only  thought  is  to  save  monsieur ;  he  has  no 
other  ideas  in  his  head.  Kolb  is  not  an  Alsacian,  he  is 
—  well,  there  !  he  's  a  Newfoundlander." 

"Go,  my  good  Kolb,"  said  David,  "do  what  you 
like  ;  we  have  time  enough  before  us  to  decide  on  a 
course." 


262  Lost  Illusions, 


WHY   ARREST    FOR   DEBT    IS    EXTREMELY    RARE    IN   THE 
PROVINCES. 

Imprisonment  for  debt  is,  in  the  provinces,  an  extraor- 
dinaiy,  abnormal  fact,  if  there  ever  was  one.  In  the 
first  place  all  persons  know  each  other  too  well  to  em- 
ploj'  such  odious  means.  Creditors  and  debtors  have 
to  see  each  other  daih'  all  their  lives.  When  a  bank- 
rupt —  to  use  the  name  given  to  the  insolvent  debtor  in 
the  provinces,  where  the}'  do  not  mince  matters  about 
such  legal  theft  —  expects  to  fail  heavily  he  takes  refuge 
in  Paris.  Paris  is  the  Belgium  of  the  provinces  ;  men 
can  find  impenetrable  hiding-places  there,  and  a  sheriffs 
warrant  expires  at  the  limit  of  his  jurisdiction.  Besides 
there  are  other  hindrances  equalh'  invalidating.  The 
law  which  maintains  the  inviolability  of  the  domicile 
rules,  without  exception,  in  the  provinces.  The  sheritf 
cannot,  as  he  does  in  Paris,  enter  a  house  to  seize  a 
debtor.  This  law  excepts  Paris  because  of  the  number 
of  families  living  in  one  house.  But  in  the  provinces  a 
sheriff  can  enter  the  debtor's  own  house  only  after  call- 
ing in  the  assistance  of  a  justice  of  the  })eace.  Now,  as 
the  justice  holds  the  sheriff  in  his  power,  he  usually 
gives  his  presence  or  withholds  it  as  he  pleasi^s.  To  the 
ho'ior  of  these  justices  it  must  be  said  that  they  dislike 
the  office  and  will  not  i)ander  to  blind  passions  or  re- 
venge.    There  aie  other  dillicullies,  not  less  real,  which 


Lost  Illusions.  263 

tend  to  rnodify  the  perfectly  iinnecessar}'  criielt}'  of  im- 
prisonment for  debt ;  for  instance,  social  customs,  which 
often  change  the  laws  to  the  point  of  annulling  them. 
In  great  cities  there  are  always  enough  depraved  and 
miserable  creatures  without  restraint  or  faith  who  will 
act  as  spies,  but  in  little  towns  every  one  is  too  well- 
known  to  hire  himself  to  the  sheriff.  Thus  the  arrest 
of  a  debtor,  not  being,  as  in  Paris  and  in  other  large 
centres  of  population,  an  object  of  individual  interest 
to  the  guardians  of  commerce,  becomes  an  exceedingh' 
difficult  proceeding,  a  combat  of  craft  against  craft  be- 
tween the  debtor  and  the  sheriff,  which  often  furnishes 
amusing  items  to  the  newspapers. 

The  tall  Cointet  did  not  choose  to  show  himself  in 
the  affair,  but  the  stout  Cointet,  who  said  openly-  that 
Metivier  had  put  the  aflfair  in  his  hands,  went  to  Dou- 
blon's  house  with  Cerizet,  now  the  Cointets'  foreman,  and 
held  a  conference  in  the  sheriff's  private  room,  which 
was  at  the  back  of  the  front  office,  on  the  ground-floor 
of  the  house.  The  office  was  entered  from  a  broad, 
paved  passage  which  formed  a  sort  of  alle}'.  The  house 
had  a  single  front-door,  on  each  side  of  which  were 
the  official  gilt  scutcheons  bearing  in  black  letters 
the  word  '•  Sheriff."  The  two  windows  of  the  office 
looking  on  the  street  were  protected  by  strong  iron 
bars.  Doublon's  private  room  looked  upon  the  garden, 
where  the  sheriff,  a  votary  of  Pomona,  cultivated  his 
wall-fruit  with  success.  The  kitchen  was  opposite  to 
the  office.  This  house  was  on  a  little  street  behind  the 
new  Law  Courts  then  building  and  not  finished  till 
after  1830.  These  details  are  not  useless  to  an  undcr- 
standino:  of  what  now  befell  Kolb. 


264  Lost  Illusions. 

The  Alsacian  had  gone  to  Doublon's  office  with  the 
intention  of  seeming  to  betra}'  his  master  to  the  shei'iff, 
in  order  to  learn  what  traps  were  to  be  set  for  him, 
and  thus  thwart  the  arrest.  The  cook  opened  the  door. 
Kolb  told  her  that  he  wished  to  speak  to  Monsieur 
Doublon  on  business.  Annoyed  at  being  disturbed 
when  bus}',  the  woman  merelj'  opened  the  office  door 
and  told  Kolb  to  wait  there  ;  then  she  went  to  the  inner 
door  and  told  her  master  that  "  a  man  "  wanted  to  speak 
to  him.  That  expression,  "  a  man,"  implied  a  peasant, 
and  Doublon  called  out,   "  Let  him  wait." 

Kolb  sat  down  near  the  door  of  the  office. 

*'  Well,  how  do  3'ou  mean  to  proceed?  "  said  the  voice 
of  the  stout  Cointet.  "  If  we  could  la}-  hold  of  him 
to-morrow  morning  it  is  so  much  time  gained." 

"He  is  so  absent-minded  that  you'll  find  it  easy 
enough  to  take  him,"  cried  Cerizet. 

Recognizing  Cointet's  voice,  but,  above  all,  enlight- 
ened b}'  the  two  speeches,  Kolb  was  immediately  certain 
that  the}'  were  talking  of  his  master ;  liis  astonishment 
was  great  on  distinguishing  the  voice  of  Cerizet. 

"  A  fellow  who  ate  his  bread  !  "  he  muttered,  horrified. 

"My  friends,"  said  Doublon,  "the  thing  to  do  is 
this.  I  will  station  men  at  intervals  between  the  rue 
de  Beaulieu  and  the  place  du  Murier  with  orders  to  fol- 
low him  if  he  comes  out  of  his  house.  We  shall  thus, 
without  letting  him  perceive  it,  track  him  to  whatever 
house  he  hides  in.  If  we  leave  him  there  in  fancied 
security  for  some  days  we  shall  be  sure  to  catch  him 
out  before  long  between  sunrise  and  sunset." 

"  But  what  is  he  doing  now?  "  said  the  stout  Cointet. 
"  Perhai)s  he  will  escape  before  to-morrow  morning." 


Lost  Illusions,  265 

*'  He  is  at  home,"  said  Doublon  ;  "  if  he  goes  out  I 
shall  know  it.  I  have  one  of  m}-  men  on  the  place  du 
Murier,  another  at  the  corner  b\'  the  Law  Courts,  and 
a  third  within  thirt}'  feet  of  this  house.  If  he  comes  out 
they  will  whistle,  and  he  won't  have  gone  ten  steps  be- 
fore I  know  it  b}'  that  telegraphic  communication." 

Kolb  had  not  expected  such  luck.  He  stepped  softl\' 
from  the  office  and  said  to  the  cook  :  ''  Monsieur  Dou- 
blon is  bus}' ;  I  '11  come  back  to-morrow  morning  early." 

The  Alsacian,  an  old  cavahy-man,  was  seized  with 
an  idea  which  he  put  in  execution  at  once.  He  went  to 
a  livery-man  of  his  acquaintance,  chose  a  horse,  had  it 
saddled,  and  returned  in  all  haste  to  his  master  s  house, 
where  he  found  Madame  Eve  in  a  state  of  despair. 

"  What  is  it,  Kolb?  "  said  David,  noticing  the  joyful 
yet  half-alarmed  look  on  his  follower's  face. 

'•You  are  surrounded  by  scoundrels.  Has  madame 
thought  of  any  place  to  hide  monsieur?  '* 

When  the  honest  Kolb  had  explained  Cerizet's  treach- 
ery, the  line  of  watchers  about  the  house,  the  part  taken 
by  the  stout  Cointet,  and  the  schemes  that  these  men 
were  plotting  against  his  master,  David  was  fatalh'  en- 
lightened as  to  his  position. 

'•It  is  the  Cointets  who  are  persecuting  you,"  ex- 
claimed poor  Eve  ;  ''  and  that  is  why  Metivier  has  been 
so  hard.  The}'  are  paper-makers,  they  want  your 
secret." 

"But  how  can  he  escape  them?"  cried  Madame 
Chard  on. 

'♦If  madame  can  find  a  little  place  in  which  to  put 
monsieur,"  said  Kolb,  '•'  I  will  promise  to  take  him  there 
safely  without. their  knowing  it." 


266  Lost  Illusions. 

"  Wait  till  night  and  take  him  to  Rasine  Clei^et/*  re- 
plied Eve.  "  I  will  go  and  arrange  with  her.  Basine 
is  another  m^-self." 

"The  spies  will  follow  you,"  said  David,  recovering 
his  presence  of  mind.  "  We  must  find  some  wa}'  of 
communicating  with  Basine  without  any  of  us  going 
there." 

"Madame  wishes  to  go  there,"  said  Kolb.  "This 
is  my  idea :  monsieur  and  I  will  go  out  together ;  the 
spies  will  all  follow  us ;  then  madame  can  go  to  Mam- 
selle  Clerget,  she  won't  be  noticed.  I've  got  a  horse  ; 
I  take  monsieur  up  behind,  and  the  devil  take  me  if 
they  catch  us." 

"Well  then,  farewell,  dear  friend,"  cried  the  poor 
wife,  throwing  herself  into  her  husband's  arms.  "  None 
of  us  can  go  and  see  you,  for  fear  they  should  find  us 
out.  We  must  saj'  good-by  for  all  the  time  this  volun- 
tary imprisonment  lasts.  We  can  correspond  by  post. 
Basine  will  mail  your  letters  and  1  will  write  to  you  in 
her  name." 

When  David  and  Kolb  left  the  house  they  heard 
three  whistles,  and  they  led  the  spies  as  lar  as  the  Porte 
Palet,  near  which  was  the  stable.  There  Kolb  took  his 
master  behind  him,  exhorting  him  to  hold  fast. 

"  Whistle,  oh  yes,  whistle  away,  n)y  good  friends  I 
laugh  at  you,"  shouted  Kolb.  "  Do  you  expect  to 
catch  a  trooper?" 

And  the  late  calvary- man  spurred  his  horse  out  into 
the  countr3'  with  a  rapidit}'  that  not  only  made  it  im- 
possible to  follow  them,  but  also  impossible  to  discover 
where  they  were  going. 

Eve  went  to  rilouinoau  to  see  Postel,  under  i)retence 


Lost  Illusions.  267 

of  consulting  him.  After  enduring  the  mortification  of 
a  pit}'  tliat  took  no  form  but  that  of  words,  she  left  the 
apothecary's  shop  and  reached,  without  being  noticed, 
Basine's  house ;  to  this  faithful  friend  she  told  her 
troubles  and  asked  her  for  help  and  protection.  Ba- 
sine,  who  b}'  wa}'  of  precaution  had  taken  Eve  into 
her  bedroom,  opened  the  door  of  a  small  adjoining 
room  lighted  by  a  skylight  through  which  no  human  eye 
could  look.  The  two  friends  opened  a  little  fireplace 
the  flue  of  which  went  up  beside  that  of  the  ironing- 
room,  where  the  workwomen  kept  a  fire  to  heat  their 
irons.  Eve  and  Basine  spread  old  coverlets  over  the 
floor  to  dull  all  sounds  if  David  made  any.  Then  they 
put  in  a  flock  bed,  a  furnace  for  his  experiments,  a 
table  and  a  chair,  etc.  Basine  promised  to  carry  food 
to  him  eveiy  night,  and,  as  no  one  could  possibly  enter 
the  room  or  know  that  any  one  was  in  it,  David  could 
defy  all  enemies  and  even  the  police. 

"  At  last,"  said  Eve,  "  I  can  feel  that  he  is  safe." 
Eve  went  back  to  Postel  to  clear  up  some  doubt 
which,  she  said,  had  brought  her  back  to  consult  so 
good  a  judge  of  commercial  matters  ;  and  she  induced 
him  to  walk  back  with  her  to  her  own  home.  "  If  you 
had  married  me,  you  would  not  be  where  you  are  now," 
was  the  burden  of  Postel's  remarks.  On  his  return  he 
found  his  wife  jealous  of  Madame  Sechard's  beaut}' 
and  furious  with  her  husband  for  his  politeness.  But 
he  pacified  her  with  an  opinion  that  fair  little  women 
were  far  superior  to  tall  darli  ones,  who  were,  he  said, 
like  fine  horses,  always  in  the  stable.  He  no  doubt 
gave  some  proof  of  the  sincerity  of  this  opinion,  for  the 
next  day  Madame  Postel  was  very  loving  to  him. 


268  Lost  Illusions. 

"  We  can  be  eas}-  in  mind  now,"  said  Eve  to  her 
mother  and  Marion,  whom  she  found  (to  use  an  expres- 
sion of  Marion's)  "  all  of  a  quiver." 

"  Oh  !  the}'  've  gone,"  said  Marion,  when  Eve  looked 
mechanically  into  her  bedroom. 

"  Which  way  shall  we  go?"  said  Kolb  to  his  master, 
when  they  were  three  miles  out  on  the  road  to  Paris. 

''  To  Marsac,"  answered  David,  "  and  as  we  have 
happened  upon  this  road  1  will  make  one  more  attempt 
on  my  father's  feelings." 

"  I'd  rather  assault  a  battery  any  da}'  —  he  has  no 
heart,  your  father." 

The  old  bear  had  no  confidence  in  his  son.  He 
judged  him,  as  the  uneducated  lower  classes  always 
judge,  by  results.  In  the  first  place,  he  did  not  admit 
he  had  robbed  David ;  then,  without  considering  the  dif- 
ference of  the  times,  he  kept  saying  :  '•  1  put  him  astride 
of  a  fine  printing-house,  just  the  position  I  had  myself, 
and  he,  who  knew  a  thousand  times  more  than  1  did, 
couldn't  make  it  go,"  Incapable  of  understanding  his 
son,  lie  condemned  him,  and  claimed  a  sort  of  superiority 
over  his  intelligence  by  thinking,  "  I  am  saving  bread 
for  him."  Moralists  will  never  succeed  in  laying  bare 
all  the  influence  which  feelings  exercise  over  self- inter- 
est. Every  law  of  nature  works  two  ways  and  in  oppo- 
site directions.  David,  on  his  side,  understanding  his 
father,  had  the  sublime  charity  to  excuse  him. 

Reaching  Marsac  at  eight  o'clock  David  and  Kolb 
found  the  old  man  in  the  act  of  finishing  his  dinner, 
which  came  of  necessity  very  near  his  bed  time. 

"  1  didn't  expect  to  see  you  again,"  said  the  father  to 
the  son  with  a  crabbed  smile. 


Lost  Illusions.  269 

"  IIow  should  you  meet,  my  master  and  yon-'  "  cried 
Kolb,  indignantly  ;  "  he  travels  in  the  skies,  and  3'ou  are 
always  among  the  vines.  Pay  what  he  needs,  pay  it 
—  that 's  your  dut}*  as  a  father." 

"  Come,  Kolb,  be  otl"  with  you  :  put  up  the  horse  at 
Madame  Courtois's,  so  as  not  to  trouble  m}-  father ;  and 
remember  that  fathers  are  alwa3's  in  the  right." 

Kolb  went  off  growling  like  a  dog  who,  being  scolded 
by  his  master  for  his  watchfulness;  protests  while  he 
obeys. 

David,  without  revealing  his  secret,  now  offered  to 
give  his  father  visible  proof  of  his  discover^',  proposing 
to  him  a  share  in  its  profits  in  return  for  the  sums  that 
he  required,  first  for  his  immediate  liberation  from  debt, 
and  next  for  the  perfection  of  his  invention. 

^'  Hey !  how  do  you  expect  to  prove  that  3'OU  can 
make  fine  paper  for  nothing?"  said  the  old  bear,  casting 
a  vinous  but  shrewd,  inquisitive,  covetous  look  at  his 
son.  It  seemed  like  a  flash  of  lightning  from  a  rainy 
cloud,  for  the  old  man,  faithful  to  his  traditions,  never 
went  to  bed  without  a  night-cap  ;  and  that  night-cap 
consisted  of  two  bottles  of  excellent  old  wine  which, 
according  to  custom,  he  sat  and  sipped. 

"Nothing  is  easier,"  replied  David.  "I  have  no 
paper  with  me,  for  I  came  off  in  haste,  to  escape 
Doublon ;  but  finding  myself  on  the  road  to  Marsac, 
I  thought  it  was  better  to  come  to  3'ou  than  go  to  a 
money-lender.  I  have  nothing  with  me  but  the  clothes 
I  stand  in.  But  shut  me  up  in  some  retired  place, 
where  no  one  can  enter  and  where  no  one  can  see  me, 
and  —  " 

"What!"    exclaimed  the   old  man,   with   an  angrj- 


270  Lv8t  Illusions. 

look  at  his  son,  ''  do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  am  not  to 
see  what  you  do  ?  " 

"Father,"  said  David,  "you  have  alreadj'  proved  to 
me  that  there  is  no  fatherhood  in  business." 

"  Ha  !  you  distrust  the  parent  who  gave  you  life." 

"No,  but  I  distrust  him  who  has  taken  from  me  the 
means  of  living." 

"  Ever}^  man  for  himself;  you  are  right  enough 
there,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Well,  I  '11  put  you  in  m}- 
distillery." 

"Very  good;  I'll  live  there  with  Kolb.  Let  me 
have  a  caldron  for  my  pulp,"  said  David,  not  observ- 
ing the  glance  his  father  gave  him  ;  "  then,  if  you  will 
seiid  out  and  get  me  stems  of  artichokes,  asparagus, 
nettles,  and  the  reeds  you  cut  on  the  banks  of  your  little 
river,  I  will  show  you  a  magnificent  paper  to-morrow 
morning." 

"  If  that  is  really  so,"  said  the  bear,  with  a  hic- 
cough, ''  I  will  give  you  —  perhaps  —  well,  I  '11  see  if  I 
can  give  you  twenty-five  thousand  fi-ancs,  on  condition 
that  3'ou  earn  that  sum  for  me  ever3'  year." 

"  Give  me  the  cliance,  and  I  accept  it,"  cried  David. 
"Kolb,  take  the  horse  and  go  to  Mansle  ;  buy  me  a 
large  horse-hair  sieve,  and  some  size  at  the  grocer's, 
and  get  back  as  fast  as  you  can." 

"  Here,  drink  something,"  said  the  old  man.  putting 
a  bottle  of  wine,  some  bread,  and  tlie  remnants  of  cold 
meat  before  his  son.  "  Keep  up  your  strength.  I  '11 
attend  to  your  stock  of  green  rubbish,  —  for  Ihey  are 
green,  tliose  rags  of  yours  ;  too  green,  I  *m  thinking!  " 

Two  liours  hiter,  about  eleven  at  night,  the  old  man 
locked  up  his  son  and  Kolb  in  a  little  apartment  back- 


Lost  Illusions.  271 

ing  on  his  storeroom,  roofed  with  hollow  tiles,  in  which 
were  stored  ail  the  utensils  necessar}-  for  distilling  the 
wines  of  the  province  of  Angoumois,  which,  as  ever}'- 
body  knows,  furnish  the  brandies  which  are  called 
Cognac. 

*'0h,  here's  a  manufactor}*  made  to  hand!"  cried 
David.     "  Plenty  of  pans  and  fuel." 

*'  Well,  then,  I  bid  you  good-bye  till  to-morrow,"  said 
old  Sechard.  '*  I  shall  lock  you  in  and  let  loose  m^- 
two  dogs,  so  as  to  make  sure  that  no  one  brings  3'ou 
any  paper.  Show  me  the  sheets  to-morrow,  and  I 
promise  I  will  be  your  partner,  and  then  things  will 
be  well-managed." 

Kolb  and  David  let  him  lock  them  up  ;  then  they 
spent  two  hours  in  breaking  and  preparing  the  stalks, 
using  two  pieces  of  joist.  The  fire  burned,  the  water 
boiled.  Towards  two  in  the  morning  Kolb,  less  pre- 
occupied than  David,  heard  a  sigh  suspiciously  like  a 
hiccough.  He  took  one  of  the  two  candles  and  looked 
about.  Presently  he  perceived  the  purple  face  of  the 
old  man  filling  a  little  square  opening  cut  in  the  wall 
above  the  door  of  communication  between  the  store- 
room and  the  distillery,  which  was  usually  blocked  b}' 
empty  casks.  The  crafty  old  fellow  had  put  his  sou 
into  the  distillery  by  the  outer  door.  This  inner  door 
enabled  him  to  roll  his  casks  into  the  storeroom  from 
the  distillery  without  going  round  b}'  the  courtyard. 

"Oh,  father!''  cried  David,  looking  up  at  Kolb's 
exclamation. 

'•  I  came  to  see  if  you  wanted  anything,"  said  the 
bear,  half-sobered. 

"  And  3'ouj-  interest  in  us  made  you  bring  a  ladder ! '' 


272  Lost  Illusions. 

said  Kolb,  pushing  aside  an  empLy  cask  and  opening 
the  door,  which  revealed  the  old  man.  in  his  night-shirt, 
perched  on  a  short  ladder. 

"  How  can  3'ou  risk  yonr  health?  "  said  David. 

"  I  walk  in  my  sleep,"  said  his  father,  getting  down. 
"  Yonr  distrust  of  me  has  made  me  dream  ;  I  fancied 
you  had  dealings  with  the  devil,  who  showed  you  how 
to  do  impossible  things." 

"The  devil,  indeed!"  cried  Kolb.  "It  was  3'our 
greed  for  gold  that  brought  3'Ou." 

"Go  to  bed,  father,"  said  David;  "lock  that  door 
if  3'ou  like,  but  spare  3'ourself  the  trouble  of  coming 
back.     Kolb  will  stand  sentinel." 

The  next  da3',  at  four  in  the  afternoon,  David  issued 
from  the  distiller3^,  after  destroying  all  traces  of  his 
operations,  bringing  with  him  a  dozen  or  more  sheets 
of  paper,  the  fineness,  whiteness,  texture,  and  strength 
of  which  left  nothing  to  be  desired ;  they  bore  as 
a  water-mark  the  threads  of  the  sieve,  some  being 
heavier  than  others.  The  old  man  took  the  specimens 
in  his  hand  and  applied  his  tongue  to  them,  as  a  well- 
trained  bear,  accustomed  from  early  youth  to  make  his 
tongue  the  test  of  paper,  should  do.  lie  felt  them, 
rubbed  them,  folded  them,  submitted  them  to  everv  test 
to  which  printers  subject  paper,  but  though  he  found 
nothing  to  find  fault  with,  he  would  not  admit  that  he 
was  vanquished. 

"  I  must  first  see  how  that  works  in  the  press,"  he 
said,  to  avoid  praising  his  son. 

"  Queer  old  man  !  "  ejaculated  Kolb. 

"I  will  not  deceive  you,  father,"  said  Dnvid.  "I 
consider  that  that  paper  is  still  too  dear,  and   I   nuist 


Lost  Illusions.  21 -J 

solve  the  problem  of  sizing  the  pulp,  — that  is  the  only 
improvement  to  be  maile/' 

'■'•  Pla  !  you  are  only  trying  to  trick  me.'' 

''No:  let  me  tell  you!  I  can  size  the  pulp  in  the 
caldron,  but  so  far  the  size  does  not  permeate  the  pulp 
evenl}' ;  I  have  to  give  the  paper  a  touch  of  the  brush.'' 

"  Well,  discover  how  to  size  it  in  the  caldron  and 
you  shall  have  the  mone}'.'* 

"  My  master  will  never  see  the  color  of  your  mone}'," 
growled  Kolb. 

The  old  man  was  evidently  determined  to  make 
David  feel  the  mortification  he  had  himself  been  made 
to  feel  in  the  night. 

"Father,"  said  David,  sending  Kolb  awa}',  "I  have 
never  felt  hardl}'  to  you  for  selling  me  3-our  printing- 
house  at  an  exorbitant  price,  and  one  of  your  own 
appraising.  I  have  alwaj'S  looked  upon  you  as  a  father. 
I  have  said  to  myself:  'He  is  an  old  man,  who  has 
worked  hard,  and  brought  me  up  better  than  I  had  any 
right  to  expect ;  let  him  enjo}'  in  peace,  and  in  his  own 
wa}',  the  fruit  of  his  labor.'  I  have  even  allowed  you 
to  keep  mv  inheritance  from  m}'  mother ;  I  have  borne 
without  a  murmur  the  embarrassments  3'ou  saddled  upon 
me.  I  vowed  I  would  make  my  wa}'  to  fortune  without 
asking  any  help  from  you.  Well,  this  secret  of  mine,  I 
have  discovered  it  in  the  midst  of  want,  without  bread  to 
feed  mv  family,  and  tortured  b}'  debts  which  are  not  my 
own.  Yes,  I  have  struggled  patientl}'  until  now,  when 
ray  means  are  all  exhausted.  Perhaps  it  might  be  said 
that  you  owe  me  help,  —  but  do  not  think  of  me  ;  think 
only  of  that  woman  and  child "  (David  could  not  re- 
strain his  tears),  "  —  help  them,  protect  them  !    Would 

18 


27-1  Lost  Illusions. 

3"0u  be  less  to  them  than  Kolb  and  Marion,  who  gave 
me  their  savings?"  cried  tlie  son,  seeing  that  his  father 
was  as  cold  as  the  slab  of  his  press. 

"  And  even  that  didn't  suffice  3-ou  !  "  cried  the  old 
man,  lost  to  all  sense  of  shame  ;  ''  why,  you  would  soon 
la}'  waste  all  France  !  Good-bj'e  to  you  ;  I  'm  too  igno- 
rant to  dabble  in  schemes  in  which  I  'm  the  one  who  is 
schemed  against.  The  monkey'  can't  devour  the  bear  " 
(using  the  press-room  terms).  "I'm  a  farmer,  not  a 
banker.  Besides,  business  between  father  and  son  al- 
ways turns  out  ill.  Eat  your  dinner  here  ;  you  sha'n't 
sa}'  that  I  let  3-ou  go  without  giving  you  anything." 

David's  nature  was  one  of  those  profoundly  deep  ones 
which  drive  back  their  sufferings  to  the  depths  and  keep 
them  a  secret  from  their  nearest  and  dearest.  With 
such  natures,  when  their  anguish  forces  its  way  to  the 
surface  and  makes  an  appeal,  the  effort  is  a  mightv  and 
supreme  one.  Eve  had  thoroughly  understood  the 
noble  character  of  the  man.  But  the  father  saw  in  this 
wave  of  anguisli  rising  from  the  depths  die  common 
trick  of  children  who  want  "  to  work  upon "  their 
fathers,  and  he  took  the  excessive  depression  which 
overcame  his  son  for 'the  shame  of  failure.  They  parted 
on  bad  terms.  David  and  Kolb  returned  about  mid- 
night to  the  neighborhood  of  Angouleme,  where  they 
dismounted  and  entered  the  town  on  foot,  witli  as  man}' 
precautions  as  thieves  would  take  for  their  robberies. 
About  one  in  the  morning  David  was  safely  inducted 
by  INIademoiselle  Basine  Clerget  into  the  imi»enelral)le 
hiding-place  selected  by  his  wife.  Tiiere  the  pooi'  man 
was  now  to  be  watched  and  tended  by  the  most  ingen- 
uous and  simple-hearted  of  all  pities,  that  of  a  grisette. 


Lost  Illusions.  275 

The  next  da}*  Kolb  openly  boasted  of  having  saved  his 
master  on  horseback,  and  of  not  leaving  him  nntil  he 
saw  him  safely  in  the  suburbs  of  Limoges.  A  great 
provision  of  David's  raw  material  was  already  stored  in 
Basine's  cellar,  so  tliat  Kolb,  Marion,  Madame  Sechard, 
and  her  mother  had  no  need  to  communicate  with  Made- 
moiselle Clerget. 

Two  days  after  this  scene  with  his  son,  old  Sechard, 
who  had  three  weeks  to  spare  before  the  business  of  the 
vintage  began,  went  to  live  in  his  daughter-in-law's  house, 
led  there  b}-  greed.  He  could  not  sleep  for  thinking  and 
wondering  if  this  discover}'  had  really  an}'  chances  of 
profit  in  it.  He  must  watch  the  grapes,  he  said.  Ac- 
cordingh'  he  betook  himself  to  the  apartment  of  two 
rooms  which  he  had  reserved  for  himself  in  the  attic  of 
David's  house  ;  and  there  he  lived,  shutting  his  e3-es  to 
the  bareness  and  poverty  which  now  afflicted  his  son's 
household.  The}-  owed  him  rent,  consequently  they 
were  bound  to  feed  him,  and  he  took  no  notice  of  the 
pewter  forks  and  spoons  with  which  the  meals  were 
served. 

"I  began  that  way  myself,"  he  replied,  when  his 
daughter-in-law  excused  herself  for  having  no  silver. 

Marion  was  obliged  to  run  in  debt  for  the  food  the 
old  man  consumed.  Kolb  was  employed  by  a  mason  at 
twenty  sous  a  day.  Before  long  only  ten  francs  re- 
mained to  poor  Eve,  who,  in  the  interests  of  her  child 
and  David,  sacrificed  one  by  one  her  last  resources  to 
make  the  old  man  comfortable.  She  hoped  by  her 
pretty  ways,  her  respectful  attentions,  her  quiet  resigna- 
tion, to  touch  the  old  miser's  feelings  ;  but  she  found 
him  always  the  same,  utterly  insensible.     She  tried  to 


276  Lost  Illusions. 

stud}'  his  character  and  divine  his  intentions,  but  it  was 
labor  lost.  Old  Sechard  made  himself  impenetrable  by 
keeping,  as  the  saying  is,  between  two  wines.  Intoxi- 
cation is  a  good  veil.  Under  cover  of  his  drunkenness, 
often  more  pretended  than  real,  the  old  man  tried  to 
w^orm  David's  secret  from  Eve.  Sometimes  he  cajoled 
her,  sometimes  he  frightened  her.  When  Eve  assured 
hira  that  she  w\as  wholly'  ignorant,  he  would  answer, 
"  I  '11  use  up  my  whole  propert}' ;  I  '11  buy  an  annuity." 
These  humiliating  struggles  wore  out  the  poor  victim, 
who,  not  to  seem  wanting  in  respect  to  her  father-in-law, 
ended  at  last  in  saying  nothing.  But  one  day,  driven 
to  extremities,  she  made  answer,  "  Father^  there  is  a 
very  easy  wa}'  to  find  out  everything.  Pa}*  David's 
debts,  let  him  come  home,  and  you  will  soon  come  to  an 
understanding  together." 

"  Ha  !  that 's  what  you  want  to  get  out  of  me!  "  he 
cried  ;  "  I'm  glad  to  know  it." 

Old  Sechard,  who  would  not  believe  in  his  son,  be- 
lieved in  the  Cointets.  He  went  to  consult  them,  and 
they  purposely  dazzled  liim,  telling  him  there  might  be 
millions  in  his  son's  discover}'. 

^'  If  David  can  prove  that  he  has  succeeded  I  should 
not  hesitate  to  take  your  son  into  the  partnership  of  my 
paper  factory  on  equal  terms,  counting  his  discovery  as 
of  equal  value  with  the  property,"  said  the  tall  Cointet. 

But  the  suspicious  old  bear  made  so  many  inquiries 
while  drinking  with  the  workmen,  he  asked  so  many 
questions  of  Petit-Claud,  pretending  stui)idity,  tliat 
he  ended  by  suspecting  that  the  Cointets  were  tlie 
real  movers  in  the  matter,  behind  INIetivier,  and  tluit 
their  object  was  to  ruin  the  Sechard  printing-house,  and 


Lost  Illusions.  277 

decoy  bim  into  paying  the  notes  by  this  talk  of  a  dis- 
covery ;  for  the  old  peasant  suspected  nothing  of  Petit- 
Claud's  complicity,  nor  of  the  deep  plot  laid  to  get 
possession,  sooner  or  later,  of  this  valuable  industrial 
secret.  Finally,  one  morning,  the  old  man,  exasperated 
at  not  being  able  to  conquer  his  daughter-in-law's 
silence,  nor  even  to  discover  from  her  where  David  was 
hiding,  resolved  to  force  the  door  of  the  foundry  in  the 
shed,  after  discovering  the  fact  that  his  son  was  in 
the  habit  of  working  there.  He  got  up  very  earh'  in 
the  morning  and  began  to  pick  the  lock. 

*' What  are  you  doing  there,  papa  Sechard?"  cried 
Marion,  who  got  up  at  da3'break  to  go  to  her  factory, 
and  now  bounded  to  the  door  of  the  workshop  when  she 
saw  the  old  man. 

'•I  am  in  my  own  house,  Marion,"  said  Sechard, 
confused. 

'•  Ha !  do  you  mean  to  be  a  thief  in  your  old  days? 
You  won't  get  anything  by  it,  however.  I  shall  go  and 
tell  all  this  to  madame,  red-hot." 

'•  Xo,  don't  do  that,  Marion.  See  here  ;  "  and  the  old 
man  pulled  two  crowns  of  six  francs  each  from  his 
pocket. 

''  I  '11  say  nothing,"  said  Marion,  pocketing  the 
money  ;  '•  but  don't  trv  it  again,"  shaking  her  finger  at 
him,  '•  or  I  '11  tell  it  to  all  Angouleme." 

As  soon  as  old  Sechard  had  gone  out  Marion  rushed 
up  to  her  mistress. 

''  See  here,  madame!  I  have  got  twelve  francs  out 
of  3'our  father-in-law  ;  there  thej'  are." 

''  How  did  you  do  it? " 

"  He  wanted  to  have  a  look  into  the  shed  and  see 


278  Lost  Illusions. 

what  tools  and  provisions  monsieur  had  there.  I  knew 
there  was  nothing  there  ;  but  I  frightened  him  well, 
and  told  him  he  wanted  to  rob  his  son,  and  he  gave  me 
those  crowns  to  hold  my  tongue." 

Just  then  Basine  came  in  joyously  with  a  letter  from 
David,  written  on  magnificent  paper,  which  she  gave  to 
her  friend  secretl}. 

My  adored  Eve,  —  I  write  to  you  first,  on  the  first  sheet 
of  paper  obtained  by  my  process.  I  have  succeeded  in  solv- 
ing the  problem  of  sizing  the  pulp  in  the  vat.  A  pound  of 
pulp  will  cost  (eA^en  supposing  the  products  I  employ  to  be 
cultivated  on  good  ground)  five  sous.-  Thus  the  ream  of 
twelve  pounds  takes  three  francs*  worth  of  sized  pulp.  I  am 
certain  to  lessen  the  weight  of  books  by  at  least  one  half. 
The  envelope,  letter,  and  samples  enclosed  ar(^  all  different 
fabrications. 

I  kiss  you,  dear  wife ;  m'b  shall  now  be  happy  in  riches, 
the  only  thing  lacking  to  us. 

"  See,"  said  Eve  to  her  father-in-law,  holding  up  the 
samples.  ''Give  your  son  the  profits  of  your  vintage 
and  let  him  make  his  fortune  ;  he  will  return  you  ten- 
fold what  you  give  him,  for  he  has  succeeded  at  last !  " 


Lost  Illusions.  279 


YI. 

A    CRISIS,    WHEN    THE    DOGS    STAND    AND     LOOK   AT    EACH 
OTHER. 

Old  Sechard  had  no  sooner  got  the  paper  into  his 
own  hands  than  he  hurried  to  the  Cointets.  There  each 
sample  was  assa3-ed  and  examined  miniiteh*.  Some 
were  sized,  others  unsized ;  the  price  was  ticketed  on 
each,  from  three  to  ten  francs  a  ream  ;  some  were  of 
almost  metallic  pnrit}-,  others  soft  as  Chinese  paper ; 
all  possible  shades  of  white  were  among  them.  The 
e3'es  of  Jews  appraising  diamonds  never  gleamed  with 
a  keener  light  than  those  of  the  Cointets  and  old 
Sechard. 

"Your  son  is  on  the  right  road,"  said  the  stout 
Cointet. 

"Very  good  ;  then  pa}-  his  debts,"  said  the  bear. 

"  Willingh',  if  he  will  take  us  for  partners,"  replied 
the  tall  Cointet. 

"  You  are  thumb-screwers,"  cried  the  old  man.  "  You 
are  persecuting  m}-  son  under  the  name  of  Metivier,  and 
you  want  me  to  bu}'  you  off.  Thank  j'ou,  I'm  not 
such  a  fool  as  that !  " 

The  brothers  looked  at  each  other,  but  the}'  managed 
to  conceal  their  surprise  at  the  perspicacitj'  of  the  old 
miser. 


280  Lost  Illusions, 

*'  We  are  not  yet  millionnaires  enougli  to  dabble  in 
discounts,"  replied  the  stout  Cointet.  ''  We  think  our- 
selves lucky  if  we  can  pay  our  current  bills,  and  we 
still  give  notes  to  our  dealers." 

*^The  experiment  must  be  tested  on  a  larger  scale,"' 
said  the  tall  Cointet,  coldh\  "  A  thing  that  succeeds 
in  a  saucepan  may  fail  when  it  comes  to  a  vat.  Free 
your  son,  and  let  him  try  it." 

"  Yes.  but  will  my  son  allow  me  to  be  his  partner  if 
I  set  him  at  liberty?  " 

*'  That  is  not  our  affair,"  said  the  stout  Cointet. 
"  Do  you  suppose,  my  good  friend,  that  when  you  have 
paid  ten  thousand  francs  for  30ur  son,  that 's  the  whole 
of  it?  A  patent  of  invention  costs  two  thousand  francs, 
and  involves  journeys  to  Paris  in  order  to  get  it. 
Then,  before  making  any  outlay  it  will  be  prudent,  as 
m}-  brother  says,  to  manufacture  a  thousand  reams,  and 
risk  the  loss  of  whole  batches  so  as  to  know  what  can 
be  counted  on.  There  's  nothing  more  to  be  distrusted 
than  inventors." 

"  As  for  me,"  said  the  tall  Cointet,  "  I  want  my 
bread  all  baked." 

The  old  man  passed  the  night  in  turning  over  and 
over  in  his  mind  the  following  dilemma:  ''If  I  pay 
David's  debts  he  is  at  liberty,  and  once  at  liberty  he  is 
not  forced  to  make  me  a  partner  in  his  enterprise.  He 
knows  that  I  got  the  better  of  him  in  that  first  transac- 
tion, and  he  won't  tr}'  a  second.  It  is  my  interest,  there- 
fore, to  keep  him  in  prison." 

The  Cointets  knew  old  Sechard  well  enough  to  be 
certain  they  could  hunt  in  couples.  The  three  men 
said  in  words:    "Before  we  form  a  company  on  this 


Lost  Illusions.  281 

discover}'  we  must  have  larger  experiments  ;  to  make 
these  experiments  David  Sechard  must  be  at  Uberty." 
But  all  concerned  had  private  thoughts  of  their  own. 
Petit-Claud  said  to  himself:  "  After  I  am  married 
I  '11  take  m}'  neck  out  of  the  Cointet  3'oke  ;  but  till 
then  I  hold  them."  The  tall  Cointet  was  thinking  :  '*  I 
would  rather  see  David  under  lock  and  ke}' ;  I  should 
then  be  master  of  the  situation."  Old  Sechard  was 
saying  to  himself:  "  If  I  pa}'  his  debts  my  son  will 
just  give  me  a  nod  of  thanks  and  that 's  all." 

Eve,  harassed  by  the  old  man,  who  threatened  to 
turn  her  out  of  the  house,  still  refused  either  to  reveal 
her  husband's  refuge  or  propose  to  David  to  return 
under  promise  of  safety.  She  was  not  certain  of  being 
able  to  hide  him  so  successfully  a  second  tiaie,  and  she 
therefore  replied  to  all  her  father-in-law's  requests : 
'*  Liberate  your  son,  and  you  will  know  all."  None  of 
these  four  interested  men,  standing,  as  it  were,  before  a 
festive  table,  dared  to  touch  the  food,  so  fearful  were 
they  of  having  it  snatched  from  them  ;  they  all  watched 
each  other  with  keen  distrust. 

Some  days  after  David  Sechard's  concealment  Petit- 
Claud  went  to  see  the  tall  Cointet  at  his  paper  factory, 

"  I  have  done  my  best,'*  he  said.  "  David  has  vol- 
untarily made  himself  a  prisoner,  we  don't  know  where, 
and  he  is  no  doubt  quietly  improving  his  process.  If 
you  have  not  obtained  your  object  the  fault  is  not  mine. 
Do  you  intend  to  keep  your  promise  to  me  ?" 

''Yes,  if  we  succeed,"  replied  Cointet.  "Old  Se- 
chard has  been  here  several  times  ;  he  asks  questions 
about  the  manufacturing  of  paper;  the  old  miser  has 
scented  his  son's  invention,  and  he  wants  to  profit  by  it. 


282  Lpat  Illusions. 

There  is,  therefore,  some  hope  of  forming  a  compan}-. 
You  are  the  law3'er  of  father  and  son  —  " 

"  And  you  want  the  H0I3'  Spirit  to  get  the  better  of 
them?"  said  Petit-Claud,  smiling. 

"  Yes,"  said  Cointet.  "  If  you  succeed  either  in  put- 
ting David  in  prison,  or  in  our  hands  tlirough  a  deed  of 
partnership,  you  shall  be  the  husband  of  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Haye." 

"  Is  that  your  ultimatum?  " 

''  Yes,"  rephed  Cointet. 

"  And  this  is  mine,"  rejoined  Petit-Claud,  in  a  curt 
tone:  "  Give  me  something  positive  to  rel}'  upon  ;  in 
other  words,  keep  3'our  promise,  or  I  will  pay  David's 
debts  and  make  myself  his  partner  by  selling  my  prac- 
tice. I  will  not  be  cheated.  You  have  spoken  plainly, 
and  I  use  the  same  language.  I  have  kept  my  word  to 
you  ;  do  you  keep  3'ours  to  me.  You  have  got  ever}'- 
thing  out  of  me,  I  have  nothing  out  of  you.  If  I  do 
not  at  once  have  proofs  of  your  sincerity  I  check-mate 
you." 

The  tall  Cointet  took  his  hat  and  umbrella  and  put 
on  his  Jesuit  air ;  then  he  left  the  house  and  signed  to 
Petit-Cland  to  follow  him,  saying  :  — 

"  You  shall  see,  my  dear  friend,  whether  or  not  I 
have  prepared  the  way  for  3'ou." 

The  shrewd  and  wil3^  merchant  had  instantl3'  seen 
his  danger ;  he  saw  too  that  Petit-Claud  was  one  of 
those  men  with  whom  it  was  wisest  to  pla3'  above- 
board.  He  had  already,  by  way  of  preparation  or  to 
acquit  his  conscience,  said  a  few  words  in  jSIonsieur 
du  Ilautoy's  car  under  pretence  of  giving  an  account 
of  Mademoiselle  de  la  llaye's  financial  position. 


Lost  Illusions.  283 

*'  I  have  found  an  excellent  marriage  for  Frangoise,'' 
he  said.  "  Of  course  with  a  dot  of  onl}-  thirt}'  thousand 
francs  a  girl  can't  be  exacting  in  these  da3's." 

"  We  will  talk  it  over,"  replied  Francis  du  Hautoy. 
"  Since  Madame  de  Bargeton's  departure  the  posi- 
tion of  Madame  de  Senonches  has  changed  very  much. 
We  might  now  be  able  to  marry  Francoise  to  some  old 
countr}^  noble." 

"  If  you  do  she  will  disgrace  herself,"  said  Cointet, 
coolh*.  "  Better  marr}'  her  to  a  young  man  ambitious 
and  capable,  whose  future  you  could  help,  and  who 
would  put  his  wife  in  a  good  position." 

"  We  will  see  about  it,"  Francis  had  replied  ;  "  the 
godmother  must  be  consulted  first  of  all." 

On  the  death  of  Monsieur  de  Bargeton  his  wife  had 
sold  his  propert}'  in  Angouleme.  Madame  de  Se- 
nonches, who  was  poorh'  housed,  persuaded  her  husband 
to  bu}'  the  Bargeton  mansion,  —  the  cradle  of  Lucien's 
ambition,  where  this  history  began.  Zephirine  de 
Senonches  had  formed  a  plan  to  succeed  Madame  de 
Bargeton  in  the  sort  of  sovereignt}'  the  latter  had  once 
exercised,  —  to  "hold  a  salon,"  as  it  is  called ;  to  be,  in 
short,  the  great  lady  of  the  place.  A  schism  had  taken 
place  in  the  upper  ranks  of  Angouleme  society  at  the 
time  of  the  duel  between  Monsieur  de  Bargeton  and 
Monsieur  de  Chandour ;  some  declaring  for  the  inno- 
cence of  Louise  de  N^grepelisse,  others  for  the  calum- 
nies of  Stanislas  de  Chandour.  Madame  de  Senonches 
declared  for  the  Bargetons  and  made  an  immediate 
conquest  of  all  the  adherents  of  that  party.  Then, 
after  she  was  fairl}'  installed  in  her  new  house,  she 
profited  by  the  old  habits  of  those  who  had  come  there 


284  Lost  Illusions. 

so  man}'  years,  to  win  them  back  again.  She  received 
ever}'  evening,  and  soon  carried  the  day  over  Amelie  de 
Chandour,  who  posed  as  her  rival.  The  hopes  of 
Francis  du  Hantoy,  now  at  the  heart  of  Angouleme 
society,  went  so  far  that  he  thought  of  marrying 
Fran9oise  to  Monsieur  de  Severac,  wliom  Madame  du 
Brossard  had  not  been  able  to  capture  for  her  daughter. 

The  tall  Cointet,  who  had  his  Angouleme  at  his 
fingers'  ends,  appreciated  this  difficulty,  but  he  resolved 
to  get  round  it  by  one  of  those  audacities  which  a 
Tartufe  alone  can  venture  on.  The  little  lawyer,  a 
good  deal  surprised  at  the  loyalty  of  his  pai'tner  in 
quibbling,  left  him  to  his  own  thoughts  as  they  walked 
from  the  factory  to  the  house  in  the  rue  du  Minage, 
where,  on  the  landing,  the  importunate  pair  were 
stopped  by  the  words:  "Monsieur  and  Madame  are 
breakfasting." 

"  Announce  us  all  the  same,"  said  the  tall  Cointet. 
They  were  at  once  admitted,  and  the  merchant  pre- 
sented the  lawyer  to  the  affected  Zephirine,  who  was 
breakfasting  with  M.  Francis  du  Hautoy  and  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Haye  ;  Monsieur  de  Senonches  having 
gone,  as  usual,  to  a  meet  at  Monsieur  de  Pimentcl's. 

*'  This,  madame,  is  the  young  lawyer  who  will  take 
charge  of  the  arrangements  on  the  coming  of  age  of 
3'our  beautiful  ward." 

Francis  du  Ilautoy  examined  Petit-Chiud,  who,  on 
his  side,  ghinccd  furtively  at  the  ''  beautiful  ward." 
Zei)hirinc's  surprise  at  tliis  acklress  —  for  Francis  had 
not  said  a  word  to  her  on  tlie  subject  —  was  so  great 
that  the  fork  dropped  from  her  hand.  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Ilaye,  a  shrewish-looking  girl  with  a  glum  face, 


Lost  Illusions.  285 

a  thin,  ungraceful  figure,  and  dull,  fair  hair,  was,  in  spite 
of  a  rather  aristocratic  air  and  manner,  ver}-  difficult  to 
marr}'.  The  words  "father  and  mother  unknown  "  in 
her  certificate  of  birth  forbade  her  the  sphere  where  the 
affection  of  her  godmother  and  Francis  du  Hautoy 
would  fain  have  placed  her.  Mademoiselle  de  la  Haye, 
who  was  herself  ignorant  of  her  position,  was  difficult  to 
please ;  she  had  rejected  more  than  one  rich  merchant 
of  I'Houmeau.  The  significant  grimace  which  she 
made  at  the  pun}'  aspect  of  the  little  lawyer  was  re- 
flected on  the  latter's  lips,  and  Cointet  saw  it.  Madame 
de  Senonches  and  Francis  seemed  to  be  consulting  each 
other  with  their  eyes  as  to  how  they  could  get  rid  of 
Cointet  and  his  protege.  Cointet,  who  saw  everything, 
begged  Monsieur  du  Hautoy  to  give  him  a  few  moments' 
private  conversation,  and  the  pair  then  passed  into  the 
salon. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Cointet  plainh',  "don't  let  pater- 
nity blind  you.  You  will  have  difficult}'  in  marrying 
your  daughter,  and  in  the  interest  of  all  concerned  I 
have  committed  you  irrevocably  to  this  marriage  ;  for  I 
love  Francoise  as  though  she  were  my  own  ward.  Petit- 
Claud  knows  all.  His  extreme  ambition  will  guarantee 
the  happiness  and  comfort  of  your  dear  girl.  Besides, 
Francoise  can  make  anything  she  likes  of  her  husband ; 
with  your  influence  he  will  soon  be  procureiir  die 
roi.  Petit-Claud  will  sell  his  practice  ;  you  can  easily 
obtain  for  him  at  once  the  position  of  second  assistant- 
procureur  ;  after  that  he  will  soon  make  himself  prO' 
cureur,  president  of  the  court,  and  deputy." 

When  they  returned  to  the  dining-room  Francis  was 
very  polite  to  his  daughter's   suitor.      He   looked  at 


286  Lost  Illusions. 

Madame  de  Senonches  in  a  certain  way,  and  ended  the 
scene  by  invitinj^  Petit-Claud  to  dinner  on  the  foUowins: 
day  to  talk  business.  Then  he  went  with  them  as  far 
as  the  courtyard,  saying  to  Petit-Claud  that  he  was 
disposed,  on  the  recommendation  of  Cointet,  and  so  was 
Madame  de  Senonches,  to  confirm  all  that  the  guardian 
of  Mademoiselle  de  la  Haye's  fortune  had  arranged  for 
the  happiness  of  that  dear  angel. 

''  Heavens !  how  ugly  she  is !  "  cried  Petit-Claud, 
when  the}'  were  off  the  premises,  "  and  I  am  caught !  " 

"  She  has  a  ver}'  distinguished  air,"  said  Cointet ; 
"  and  if  she  were  handsome  do  you  suppose  they  would 
give  her  to  you  f  He}' !  my  dear  fellow,  there 's  more 
than  one  small  land-owner  to  whom  thirt}'  thousand 
francs  and  the  influence  of  Madame  de  Senonches 
would  be  very  acceptable  ;  all  the  more  because  Mon- 
sieur Francis  du  Hautoy  will  never  marr}'  and  this  girl 
is  his  heir.     Your  marriage  is  settled." 

"Settled!  how  so?" 

"This  is  what  I  have  just  told  Monsieur  du  Hauto}'," 
replied  Cointet,  who  now  related  his  audacious  proceed- 
ing. "  M}'  dear  fellow,  Monsieur  Milaud  is,  the}'  say, 
about  to  be  made  procureur  du  roi.  Sell  your  prac- 
tice, and  in  ten  years  from  now  you  '11  be  Keeper  of  the 
Seals.  You  are  bold  enough  not  to  shrink  from  any 
service  the  court  may  ask  of  you." 

^'  Well,  I  '11  meet  you  to-morrow  at  half-past  four  on 
the  place  du  Murier,"  replied  the  lawyer  almost  beside 
liimself  at  the  probability  of  such  a  future.  "I  shall 
then  have  seen  old  Sechard  and  planned  a  partnership 
in  which  both  father  and  son  shall  belong  to  the  Holy 
Spirit  of  the  Cointcts." 


Lost  Illusions.  287 

On  the  following  clay  three  men,  each  remarkable  in 
his  wa}',  bearing  with  their  whole  weight  upon  the  fu- 
ture of  the  poor  voluntar}-  prisoner,  namel}',  old  Se- 
chard,  the  tall  Cointet,  and  the  pun}-  little  lawyer,  were 
standing  on  the  place  du  Murier.  Three  men !  three 
greeds  !  each  greed  as  different  as  the  men  themselves. 
One  was  conspiring  against  his  son,  another  against  his 
client,  and  Cointet  was  buying  these  infamies,  resolved, 
in  his  own  mind,  not  to  pa}'  for  them. 

It  was  about  five  o'clock  and  many  of  those  who 
were  on  their  way  home  to  dinner  stopped  to  look  for  a 
moment  at  the  three  men. 

^'  What  the  devil  can  old  Sechard  and  the  tall  Coin- 
tet have  to  say  to  each  otiier?"  thought  the  most  in- 
quisitive. 

"  There  is  probably  something  between  them  about 
that  wretched  David,  who  has  left  his  wife  and  child 
and  mother-in-law  without  bread,"  replied  some  one. 

"  See  what  it  is  to  send  your  sons  to  Paris  to  learn  a 
trade  !  "  remarked  a  wise  man  of  the  provinces. 

Just  then  old  Sechard  caught  sight  of  the  venerable 
priest  of  his  own  parish  of  Marsac,  who  was  making 
his  way  across  the  place  du  Murier. 

"  Hey  !  monsieur  le  cure,  what  are  you  doing  here?  " 
he  cried  in  astonishment. 

"Ah!  Monsieur  Sechard,  is  that  you?"  replied  the 
Abbe  Marron.  ''  I  have  come  on  business  to  your 
family." 

"  Something  about  my  son,"  thought  Sechard. 

"  It  will  not  cost  you  much  to  make  everybody  happy," 
said  the  priest,  pointing  to  a  window^  where  INIadame 
Sechard's  beautiful  face  had  just  appeared  between  the 


288  LoBt  Illusions. 

curtains.  Eve  was  hushing  the  child's  cries  b}'  tossing 
him  in  her  arms  and  singing  to  him. 

"Have  you  brought  news  of  m}'  son  ?"  said  the 
father,  ''  or  money?  —  for  that's  what  he  wants  most." 

"No,"  said  the  Abbe  Marron.  "I  bring  news  to 
Madame  Eve  Sechard  of  her  brother." 

"  Lucien  !  "  exclaimed  Petit-Claud. 

"  Yes.  That  poor  young  man  has  come  from  Paris 
on  foot.  I  found  him  at  Courtois's,  dying  of  fatigue 
and  starvation,"  replied  the  priest.  "  He  is  very  un- 
fortunate." 

Petit-Claud  took  Cointet  b}-  the  arm,  saying  aloud: 
"  We  dine  with  Madame  de  Senonches ;  it  is  time  to 
dress."  Then  when  they  had  reached  a  little  distance 
he  added  in  a  low  voice,  "  Catch  the  cub,  and  you  have 
the  mother.     We  have  David." 

"I've  married  you,  do  you  marr}'  me,"  returned 
Cointet,  with  a  treacherous  smile. 

"Lucien  was  my  schoolmate ;  we  were  churns.  In 
a  week  I  shall  get  eventhing  out  of  him.  See  that  my 
banns  are  published  and  I  will  promise  to  put  David  in 
prison.  M}'  mission  ends  when  the  bolt  is  drawn  on 
him." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  tall  Cointet,  softly.  "  The  best  thing 
to  do  would  be  to  take  out  the  patent  in  our  own  name." 

Hearing  those  words  the  puny  little  lawyer  shuddered. 

At  tliis  moment  Eve  saw  her  fiither-in-law  entering 
the  house  with   the  Abbe  Marron. 

"Here,  Madame  Secliard,"  said  the  old  boar,  '' here  's 
our  vicar  who  has  fine  news  to  tell  you  of  your  brother." 

"Oh!"  cried  poor  Eve,  struck  to  the  heart,  "what 
has  happened   to  him  now?" 


Lost  Illusions.  289 

This  exclamation  showed  so  man}'  sufferings  already 
borne,  so  much  anxiet\-  of  so  many  kinds,  that  the 
abbe  hastened  to  say:  "Do  not  be  alarmed,  madame, 
he  is  living  !  " 

'^  Would  you  be  kind  enough,  father,'^  said  Eve,  ad- 
dressing old  Sechard,  "to  call  my  mother;  she  must 
hear  what  monsieur  has  to  tell  us  about  Lucien." 

The  old  man  went  to  find  Madame  Chardon,  to  whom 
he  said  :  "  You  are  to  go  down  and  have  a  scene  about 
your  son  with  the  Abbe  Marron  ;  he  is  a  good  man, 
though  he  is  a  priest.  Dinner  will  no  doubt  be  late.  I 
shall  be  back  in  an  hour." 

And  the  old  bear,  indifferent  to  all  that  did  not  ring 
or  glitter  gold,  left  the  poor  mother  without  paying  any 
heed  to  the  effect  of  the  blow  he  had  given  her.  The 
misfortunes  which  weighed  on  her  two  children,  the  fail- 
ure of  the  hopes  she  had  set  on  Lucien,  the  change  she 
had  so  little  foreseen  in  a  character  she  had  always  be- 
lieved to  be  upright  and  energetic,  —  in  short,  all  the 
events  which  had  happened  during  the  last  eighteen 
months  had  made  Madame  Chardon  almost  unrecogniz- 
able. She  was  not  onh^  noble  by  birth,  but  she  was 
noble  in  heart,  and  she  worshipped  her  children  ;  con- 
sequentl}'  she  had  suffered  more  during  the  last  six 
months  than  ever  before  during  her  widowhood.  Lucien 
she  knew  had  had  the  chance  to  become  a  Rubempre 
by  letters- patent  from  the  king,  to  revive  her  famih-,  the 
title,  the  arms,  to  become  a  noble  !  —  and  he  had  lost  it ; 
he  had  fallen  into  the  mire  !  More  severe  than  his  sis- 
ter, she  had  considered  Lucien  as  lost  from  the  da}'  she 
first  heard  of  the  forged  notes.  Mothers  sometimes 
choose  to  deceive  themselves ;  but  they  know  well  the 

19 


290  ^Lost  Illusions. 

children  they  have  suckled,  from  whom  they  are  never 
reall}'  parted  even  by  distance  ;  and  in  the  man}'  dis- 
cussions between  David  and  his  wife  as  to  Lucien's 
chances  in  Paris  Madame  Chardon,  while  apparently 
sharing  her  daughter's  illusions,  trembled  lest  David 
were  right,  for  he  spoke  that  which  her  mother's  con- 
science told  her  was  true.  She  knew  too  well  the  sen- 
sitiveness of  her  daughter's  sympatic-  to  burden  her 
with  her  own  distress  ;  she  had  therefore  borne  it  in 
that  silence  which  only  mothers  who  love  their  children 
are  capable  of  preserving.  Eve,  on  the  other  hand,  saw 
with  terror  the  ravages  which  grief  was  making  in  her 
mother  ;  she  saw  her  going  from  old  age  to  decrepitude 
and  threatening  to  pass  awa}'  forever.  Mother  and 
daughter  were  acting  towards  each  other  one  of  those 
noble  lies  that  do  not  deceive.  In  the  life  of  this 
mother  the  brutal  speech  of  the  old  miser  was  the  drop 
that  overflowed  the  cup  of  her  afllictions ;  Madame 
Chardon  was  heart-struck. 

Therefore,  when  Eve  said  to  the  priest;  *'  Monsieur, 
this  is  m}'  mother,"  and  when  the  abbe  looked  in  that 
worn  face,  pallid  as  that  of  a  nun,  framed  with  hair 
that  was  wholly  white  and  yet  made  beautiful  by  the 
calm  and  tender  air  of  a  woman  piously  resigned,  who 
walked,  as  the}'  say,  by  the  will  of  God,  he  understood 
the  whole  life  of  these  two  beings.  The  priest  felt  no 
more  pit}'  for  tlie  executioner,  for  Lucien  ;  he  shuddered 
as  he  became  aware  of  the  tortures  his  victims  had 
evidently  endured. 

"  Mother,"  s;iid  Eve,  "  my  poor  brother  is  very  near 
us  ;  he  is  at  Marsac." 

**  Why  is  he  not  here?"  asked  Madame  Chardon. 


Lost  Illusions.  291 

The  Abbe  Marron  related  the  circumstances  which 
had  brought  Lucien  from  Paris,  and  the  misery  of  his 
last  days  there.  He  described  the  anguish  of  the  poet 
when  he  discovered  the  effects  of  his  conduct  on  his  un- 
fortunate family,  and  his  fears  as  to  the  greeting  he 
might  receive  in  Angouleme. 

''  Has  he  reached  the  point  of  doubting  us?"  said 
Madame  Chardon. 

"The  unfortunate  young  man  came  all  the  way  on 
foot,"  said  the  abbe,  "enduring  the  utmost  privations; 
be  returns  to  his  home  disposed  to  enter  upon  the 
humblest  wa}'  of  Hfe  ;  he  desires  to  repair  his  faults." 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  sister,  "  in  spite  of  the  harm 
he  has  done  us  I  love  my  brother  as  we  love  the  body 
of  a  friend  who  is  dead  ;  and  in  loving  him  thus,  I  still 
love  him  better  than  many  sisters  love  their  brothers. 
He  has  made  us  \Qxy  poor ;  but  let  him  come,  and  we 
will  share  with  him  the  morsel  of  bread  that  he  has  left 
us.  Ah  !  if  he  had  never  left  us,  monsieur,  we  should 
not  have  lost  our  dearest  possessions." 

"  Can  I  in  any  way  be  useful  to  you  in  3'our  painful 
situation?  "  said  the  worth}'  abbe,  wishing  to  take  leave 
with  a  suitable  speech. 

"Ah!  monsieur,"  said  Madame  Chardon,  "the 
wounds  of  money  are  not  mortal,  they  sa}',  but  wounds 
of  that  sort  can  have  no  other  remedy  than  the 
disease." 

"  If  you  had  enough  influence  over  ni}'  father-in-law 
to  induce  him  to  help  his  son,"  said  Eve,  "  you.  would 
save  a  whole  family." 

"He  does  not  believe  in  you;  he  seemed  to  me 
greatl}^  exasperated  against  your  husband,"  said  the 


292  ^  Lost  IUusio7is. 

abbe,  who  had  been  made  to  feel  b}-  the  paraphrases  of 
the  old  miser  that  the  Sechard  affairs  were  a  wasp's- 
nest  into  which  he  had  better  not  set  his  feet. 

The  priest's  mission  accomplished,  he  went  to  dine 
with  his  grand  nephew  Postel,  who  dispelled  the  small 
amount  of  good-will  felt  bj'  his  uncle  towards  Eve  and 
David  by  taking,  as  did  all  Angouleme,  the  part  of  the 
father  against  the  son. 

"  You  ma}'  do  something  to  reform  a  spendthrift," 
said  Postel,  "  but  those  who  make  inventions  and  ex- 
periments are  certain  to  ruin  themselves." 

The  abbe's  curiosity  was  completely  satisfied  ;  and 
curiosity  is,  in  all  the  provinces  of  France,  the  principal 
cause  of  the  excessive  interest  the  inhabitants  take  in 
one  another.  That  evening  when  he  returned  to  Mar- 
sac  and  saw  Lucien,  he  told  him  what  was  happen- 
ing at  the  Sechards',  and  let  him  know  that  his  errand 
there  was  dictated  bj^  the  purest  charity. 

"  You  have  saddled  your  sister  and  her  husband  with 
a  debt  of  ten  or  twelve  thousand  francs,"  lie  said  in 
conclusion,  "  and  no  one,  my  good  sir,  has  that  amount 
of  money  to  lend  to  a  friend.  We  are  not  rich  in  An- 
goumois  ;  I  had  no  idea  when  you  spoke  to  me  of  those 
notes  that  the  sum  was  so  large." 

Thanking  the  abbe  for  his  efforts,  the  poet  added  : 
"The  word  of  pardon  which  you  bring  is,  to  me,  the 
real  treasure." 


Lost  Illusions.  293 


VII. 

THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRODIGAL  BROTHER. 

The  next  da}'  Lucien  started  at  daylight  for  Angou- 
leme,  which  he  entered  at  nine  in  the  morning,  carry- 
ing a  cane  in  his  hand  and  wearing  a  small  frock-coat 
rather  damaged  \)y  his  journe}',  and  trousers  with  black 
and  white  lines.  His  worn-out  boots  told  plainly  enough 
that  he  belonged  to  the  hapless  class  of  foot-passen- 
gers. He  did  not  conceal  from  himself  the  effect  that 
would  certainly  be  produced  on  his  townsmen  by  the 
contrast  between  his  return  and  his  departure.  But, 
his  heart  still  panting  with  remorse  caused  by  the 
abbe's  picture  of  his  home,  he  accepted  at  the  moment 
his  punishment,  resolving  to  face  the  e3'es  of  his 
former  acquaintance.  He  said  to  himself,  "  I  am 
heroic !  "  All  such  poetic  natures  begin  by  first  dup- 
ing themselves. 

As  he  walked  through  I'Houmeau  his  soul  struggled 
between  the  shame  of  his  return  and  the  poesy  of  his 
recollections.  His  heart  beat  as  he  passed  by  Postel's 
shop,  where,  fortunatel}'  for  him,  the  apothecary's  wife 
was  alone  with  her  infant.  He  saw  with  pleasure  that 
his  father's  name  had  been  effaced.  Since  Postel's 
marriage  the  shop  had  been  repainted,  and  above  the 
door,  as  in  Paris,  was  the  word  "  Pharmacj*."  As 
Lucien  climbed  the    stairway  of  the  Porte   Palet    he 


294  Lost  Illusions. 

felt  the  influence  of  his  native  air ;  the  burden  of  his 
misfortunes  fell  from  him,  and  he  said  in  his  heart  jo}*- 
full}',  "  I  shall  see  them  once  more  !  " 

He  reached  the  place  du  Murier  without  having  met 
a  single  person  whom  he  knew  ;  a  happiness  he  hardly 
expected, —  he  who  had  once  like  a  conquering  hero 
walked  about  his  town.  Kolb  and  Marion,  standing 
sentinels  at  the  door  rushed  up  the  stairs  crying  out : 
"He  is  coming!"  Lucien  saw  once  more  the  old 
press-room,  the  old  courtyard ;  on  the  stairs  he  met  his 
sister  and  his  mother,  and  the}^  kissed  each  other,  for- 
getting for  a  moment  in  that  close  clasp  the  sorrows 
that  were  upon  them.  In  family  life  we  almost  always 
compound  w^ith  sorrow ;  we  make  our  bed,  and  hope 
enables  us  to  bear  its  hardness.  Though  Lucien  was 
the  image  of  despair,  he  was  also  the  embodiment  of 
its  poes}'.  The  sun  had  browned  his  skin  during  his 
long  and  weary  journey ;  the  deepest  melanchoh', 
stamped  on  every  feature,  cast  its  shadows  on  that 
poetic  brow.  This  change  in  his  bearing  told  of  so 
much  suffering  that  the  onl}'  feeling  possible  in  those 
who  saw  the  traces  left  b}^  miser}-  on  his  countenance, 
was  pit3^  The  ardent  imagination  w^iich  had  let  him 
go  in  hope  found  on  his  return  a  sad  real  it}'.  In 
the  midst  of  her  joy.  Eve's  smile  was  that  of  a  mar- 
tyred saint.  Grief  often  renders  the  face  of  a  very 
beautiful  woman  sublime.  The  gravity  which  Lucien 
saw  on  his  sister's  features,  in  place  of  the  tranquil  in- 
nocence they  had  worn  when  he  left  her,  spoke  too 
eloquently  to  his  heart  not  to  pain  it.  So,  the  first  effu- 
sion of  their  feelings,  keen  and  natural  as  the}'  were, 
was  followed  on  botli  sides  by  reaction  ;  each  feared  to 


Lost  Illusions.  295 

speak.  Lucien's  eyes  could  not  help  seeking  the  one 
who  was  missing  from  the  meeting.  The  look  was  un- 
derstood by  Eve,  and  she  burst  into  tears,  as  did  Lu- 
cien.  Madame  Chardon  continued  as  before,  pallid  and 
apparenth'  impassible.  Eve  rose,  to  spare  her  brother 
the  painful  answer  to  his  look,  and  went  to  find  Marion 
and  say  to  her:  "  Lucien  likes  strawbemes  —  can  we 
get  some?" 

"Oh!  don't  trouble.  I  thought  you  would  want  to 
welcome  Monsieur  Lucien,  and  I  've  got  a  nice  little 
breakfast  for  him,  and  a  good  dinner,  too." 

"  Lucien,"  said  Madame  Chardon  to  her  son,  "  you 
have  much  to  repent  of  here.  Pledged  to  be  an  ob- 
ject of  pride  to  3'our  family,  aou  have  plunged  it 
into  the  worst  distress.  You  have  almost  destroyed 
the  opportunity  your  brother  had  to  make  a  fortune 
for  his  new  famih'.  And  that  is  not  all  you  have 
destroyed,"  added  the  mother.  A  painful  pause 
succeeded ;  Lucien's  silence  seemed  to  imph'  accept- 
ance of  his  mother's  blame.  '^You  entered  a  career 
of  toil,''  went  on  Madame  Chardon,  more  gently.  "  I 
do  not  blame  you  for  wishing  to  revive  the  old  family 
from  which  I  came ;  but  such  an  enterprise  needed 
both  fortune  and  noble  principles ;  you  had  neither. 
Our  belief  in  you  is  changed  by  3-our  own  actions  to 
distrust.  You  have  destroyed  the  peace  of  this  hard- 
working, patient  family,  whose  way  was  already  diffi- 
cult. But  the  first  wrong-doing  should  receive  forgive- 
ness. Do  not  do  wrong  again.  We  are  now  in  very 
difficult  circumstances ;  be  prudent ;  listen  to  3'our 
sister's  advice ;  misfortune  is  a  teacher  whose  lessons, 
harshly  given,  have  borne  their  fruit  in  her ;  she  has 


296  ^  Lost  Illusions. 

become  serious,  she  is  a  mother,  she  bears  the  whole 
burden  of  the  home  and  its  affairs  out  of  devotion  to 
our  dear  David  ;  and  she  has  now  become,  through  your 
wroug-doing,  m}"  only  comfort."' 

"  You  might  be  more  severe,"  said  Lucien,  kissing 
his  mother.  "  I  accept  3'our  forgiveness,  because  it  is 
the  last  I  shall  ever  receive." 

Eve  returned ;  seeing  her  brother's  humiliated  atti- 
tude, she  knew  that  Madame  Chardon  had  spoken. 
Her  loving-kindness  put  a  smile  upon  her  lips,  to  which 
Lucien  answered  b}'  repressed  tears.  The  bodih'  pres- 
ence has  a  charm  ;  it  changes  the  most  hostile  feelings 
of  those  who  love,  whether  as  lovers  or  with  famil}" 
affection,  however  strong  may  be  the  causes  of  discon- 
tent. Is  it  that  affection  lays  a  path  in  the  heart  which 
we  love  to  re-enter?  Can  it  be  that  this  phenomenon 
belongs  to  the  domain  of  magnetism?  Does  reason 
tell  us  we  must  either  never  meet  again,  or  we  must 
forgive  each  other?  Whether  it  be  reason,  or  a  physi- 
cal cause,  or  an  action  of  the  soul  that  produces  this 
effect,  certain  it  is  that  every  one's  experience  will  tell 
him  that  the  motions,  gesture,  and  look  of  a  beloved 
being  revive  in  those  he  has  most  ill-used,  grieved,  or 
offended,  the  vestiges  of  tenderness.  The  mind  ma}' 
have  difficult}' in  forgetting,  self-interest  may  still  suffer, 
but  tlie  heart,  in  spite  of  everything,  returns  to  its  alle- 
giance. 80  the  poor  sister,  listening  until  bivakfast-time 
to  her  brother's  confidences,  was  no  longer  mistress  of 
her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  him,  nor  of  her  tones  when  she 
suffered  her  heart  to  speak.  lV\tiinning  to  understand 
the  elements  of  literary  life  in  Taris.  sho  also  understood 
how  it  was  that  Lucien  had  succumbed  in  the  struggle. 


Lost  Illusions.  297 

The  poet's  joy  in  fondling  his  sister's  chikl,  his  own 
childlike  ways,  the  happiness  he  showed  at  returning  to 
his  land  and  his  people,  mingled  with  his  bitter  grief  at 
David's  disaster,  the  melanchol}'  which  sometimes  over- 
shadowed him,  his  emotion  when  he  noticed  that  his 
sister  had  remembered  his  love  for  strawberries,  —  all 
these  things,  even  to  the  difficulty  of  lodging  the  prodi- 
gal brother,  made  this  da}'  a  festive  one.  It  was  like  a 
pause  in  the  midst  of  misery.  Old  Sechard  did  his 
best  to  drive  back  the  feelings  of  these  poor  women  b}' 
saying  to  them:  "You  welcome  him  as  if  he  brought 
3'ou  hundreds  and  thousands." 

"  What  has  Lucien  done  that  he  should  not  be  wel- 
comed?" cried  Madame  Sechard,  anxious  to  conceal 
her  brother's  shame. 

Nevertheless,  after  the  first  flow  of  tenderness  had 
passed,  shadows  of  the  truth  reappeared.  Lucien  soon 
perceived  in  Eve  a  difference  between  her  old  afl'ec- 
tion  and  that  she  now  bore  him  ;  David  was  deeply 
honored,  while  Lucien  was  loved  in  spite  of  all,  as 
we  love  a  mistress  notwithstanding  the  disasters  she 
has  caused.  Esteem,  the  necessary  basis  of  all  true 
sentiments,  and  the  solid  material  which  gives  them 
the  securit}'  bj'  which  the}'  live,  was  now  felt  to  be 
wanting  between  the  mother  and  son,  the  sister  and 
brother.  Lucien  felt  himself  deprived  of  the  perfect 
confidence  they  would  have  had  in  him  but  for  his  lapse 
in  honor.  D'Arthez'  opinion  of  him  had  become  that  of 
his  sister,  and  unconsciously  it  showed  itself  in  her 
looks  and  tones  and  gestures.  Lucien  was  pitied  ;  but 
as  to  being  the  glory,  the  honor  of  the  famih',  the  hero 
of  the  hearth,  all  such  fine  hopes  were  gone  without  re- 


298  .  Lost  Illusions. 

call.  His  instability  was  such  that  they  even  feared  to 
tell  him  the  place  of  David's  refuge.  Eve,  unmoved  by 
his  caresses,  —  for  he  wanted  to  see  his  brother,  —  was 
no  longer  the  Eve  of  I'Houmeau,  to  whom,  in  former 
days,  a  mere  glance  from  Lucien  was  an  irresistible 
command.  Lucien  talked  of  repairing  the  wrongs  he 
had  done,  and  boasted  of  being  soon  able  to  rescue  his 
brother.  To  this  Eve  replied:  "Don't  meddle  in  the 
matter ;  our  adversaries  are  the  ablest  and  most  per- 
fidious men  in  town."  Lucien  threw  up  his  head,  as  if 
to  say  :  "  I  have  battled  with  Parisians  ;  "  to  which  his 
sister  replied  with  a  look  which  meant,  ' '  And  you  were 
worsted." 

"  I  am  no  longer  loved,"  thought  Lucien ;  "  for  my 
famil3%  as  well  as  for  the  world,  I  ought  to  have 
succeeded." 

After  the  second  day,  when  he  thus  explained  to 
himself  the  evident  want  of  confidence  in  his  mother 
and  sister,  the  poet  was  seized  with  a  feeling  that  was 
not  anger,  but  grief, — he  was  hurt.  He  api)lied  the 
axioms  of  Parisian  life  to  the  restrained  provincial  life 
of  his  family,  forgetting  that  the  patient  mediocrity  of 
the  ,home,  sublime  in  its  resignation,  was  his  work. 
"They  are  only  tradespeople,  they  cannot  understand 
me,"  he  thought ;  thus  separating  himself  from  his 
sister  and  mother  and  David,  being  unconsciously 
aware  that  he  could  no  longer  deceive  them  as  to  his 
character,  or  his  future. 

Eve  and  Madame  Chardon,  in  whom  the  divining 
sense  had  ])een  awakened  by  so  many  shocks,  so  many 
misfortunes,  were  aware  of  Lucien's  secret  thouglits ; 
they  felt  themselves  misjudged,  and  saw  him  gradually 


Lost  Illusions.  299 

withdrawing  from  them:  "Paris  has  changed  him 
towards  us,"  they  said  to  each  other.  They  gathered 
the  fruits  of  the  selfishness  the}'  themselves  had  cul- 
tivated. On  both  sides  this  first  leaven  of  estrange- 
ment was  certain  to  ferment ;  and  it  did  ferment,  but 
chiefl}'  on  Lucien's  side,  for  on  that  la}'  the  wrong.  As 
for  Eve,  she  was  one  of  those  sisters  who  can  say  to 
faulty  brothers  :  '•  Forgive  me  thi/  sins."  But,  when  any 
union  of  souls  has  been  perfect,  as  it  was  at  the  dawn 
of  life  between  Eve  and  Lucien,  all  that  injures  that 
ideal  feeling  kills  it.  Where  ordinar}'  humanity  recovers 
from  the  thrust  of  a  dagger,  the  hearts  that  love  are 
parted  irrevocabh'  by  a  word,  a  look.  The  secret  of 
inexplicable  separations  may  be  found  in  the  memory 
of  some  perfection  lost  to  the  life  of  the  soul.  We  can 
live  with  distrust  in  our  hearts  when  the  past  offers  no 
memory  of  a  pure  and  cloudless  love  ;  but,  to  two  be- 
ings once  absolutely  united  life  becomes,  when  look  and 
word  are  guarded,  intolerable.  Thus  the  great  poets 
kill  their  Paul  and  Virginia  in  adolescence.  Conceive 
of  a  Paul  and   a  Virginia   estranged  ! 

Let  us  here  remark,  to  the  honor  of  Eve  and  Lucien, 
that  self-interests,  harshly  wounded  as  they  were,  did 
not  aggravate  this  estrangement.  In  the  faultless  sister 
as  in  the  faulty  brother  all  was  feeling,  unalloyed ; 
therefore,  the  least  misunderstanding,  the  slightest 
quarrel,  any  new  disappointment  in  Lucien,  might  at 
once  disunite  them,  or  lead  to  one  of  those  partings 
which  are  irrevocable.  Matters  of  money  can  be  settled  ; 
feelings  are  unrelenting. 

A  few  days  after  his  arrival  Lucien  received  a  copy 
of  the  ''Journal  d'Angouleme,"  and  turned  pale  with 


300  .    Lost  Illusions. 

pleasure  on  seeing  himself  made  the  subject  of  a  leading 
article  in  that  estimable  paper,  whicli  resembled  the 
well-brought-up  young  lad}'  mentioned  by  Voltaire,  who 
never  got  herself  talked  about.  We  give  the  entire 
article :  — 

"  Let  Franche-Comte  take  pride  in  having  given  birth 
to  Victor  Hugo,  Charles  Nodier,  and  Cuvier  ;  Brittany,  for 
possessing  Chateaubriand  and  Lammenais  ;  Normandy,  as  the 
parent  of  Casimir  Delavigne ;  Touraine,  of  the  author  of 
*  Eloa/  To-day  our  own  Angouleme  (where,  in  the  days  of 
Louis  XIII. ,  the  illustrious  Guez,  better  known  under  the 
name  of  Balzac,  became  our  compatriot),  Angouleme,  we 
say,  has  no  need  to  envy  those  provinces,  nor  Limousin 
which  has  produced  Dupuytren  ;  nor  Auvergne,  the  country 
of  Montlosier ;  nor  Bordeaux,  wiich  may  boast  of  giving 
birth  to  so  many  great  men ;  for  we  ourselves  now  have  our 
poet !  The  author  of  the  noble  sonnets  entitled  '  Daisies,' 
unites  with  the  glory  of  a  poet  that  of  a  prose  writer  ;  for  to 
him  is  due  that  fine  romance  of  '  The  Archer  of  Charles  IX.' 
The  day  will  come  when  our  sons  will  be  proud  of  having 
for  their  compatriot  Lucien  Chardon,  a  rival  of  Petrarch ! ! ! 
[In  the  provincial  newspaper  of  this  period  notes  of  excla- 
mation were  like  the  '  hurrahs '  which  greet  the  speeches  at 
an  English  public  meeting.]  In  spite  of  his  dazzling  success 
in  Paris  our  young  poet  did  not  forget  that  the  Hotel  de 
Bargeton  in  his  native  town  was  the  cradle  of  his  triumphs, 
and  that  the  Angouleme  aristocracy  were  the  first  to  applaud 
his  poems  ;  he  remembered  that  the  wife  of  our  present  pre- 
fect. Monsieur  le  Comte  du  Chatelet,  encouraged  his  first 
steps  in  the  career  of  the  Muses,  and  he  has  returned  to  us  ! 
All  ITIouineau  was  agitated  when  early  yesterday  morning 
our  Lucien  de  Kubempre  presented  himself.  The  news  of 
his  return  has  produced  the  liveliest  sensation.  It  is  certain 
that  the  town  of  Angouldme  will  not  allow  her  suburb  to 


i 


Lost  Illusions,  301 

surpass  her  in  the  honors  paid  to  one  who  has  so  gloriously, 
both  in  the  press  and  in  literatui-e,  represented  our  town 
in  Paris.  Lucien  has  dared  to  brave  the  fury  of  faction  as 
a  religious  poet  and  a  royalist.  He  has  come,  we  are  told,  to 
rest,  after  the  fatigues  of  a  struggle  which  might  well  weary 
stronger  atliletes  than  men  of  poetry  and  imagination. 

"  With  an  eminently  wise  political  forethought,  which  we 
applaud  (it  is  said  that  the  Comtesse  du  Chatelet  was  the 
first  to  whom  the  idea  occurred),  it  is  proposed  to  restore  to 
our  poet  the  title  and  name  of  the  illustrious  family  of  Ku- 
bempre,  the  only  heiress  of  which  is  Madame  Chardon,  his 
mother.  To  revive  thus,  by  means  of  genius  and  fresh  fame, 
the  names  of  ancient  families  about  to  become  extinct,  is 
another  pledge  from  the  immortal  author  of  the  Charter  of 
his  constant  desire,  expressed  in  the  two  words,  Union  and 
Oblivion ! 

"  Our  poet  is  staying  with  his  sister,  Madame  Sechard." 

An  "  item  "  in  another  part  of  the  paper  was  as  follows  : 

"  Our  prefect,  Monsieur  le  Comte  du  Chatelet,  lately  ap- 
pointed Gentleman  of  the  Bedchamber  in  ordinary  to  his 
Majesty,  has  just  been  made  Councillor  of  State,  for  special 
service. 

"Yesterday  all  the  municipal  authorities  called  on  the 
prefect. 

"  Madame  la  Comtesse  Sixte  du  Chatelet  will  receive  every 
Thursday. 

"  The  mayor  of  Escarbas,  M.  de  Negrepelisse,  representing 
the  younger  branch  of  the  d'Espard  family,  the  father  of 
]\Iadame  du  Chatelet,  who  was  recently  made  a  count  and 
Peer  of  France  and  Commander  of  the  royal  order  of  Saint- 
Louis,  is,  they  say,  selected  to  preside  over  the  electoral  Col- 
lege of  Angouleme  at  the  coming  elections." 

"  There  !  "  said  Lucien  to  his  sister,  giving  her  the 
paper. 


802  -   Lost  Illusions. 

After  reading  the  article  attentive!}',  Eve  gave  the 
sheet  back  to  Lucien  with  a  thoughtful  air. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it?"  asked  Lucien,  amazed 
at  a  caution  which  seemed  to  him  coldness. 

"Brother,"  she  answered,  "that  newspaper  belongs 
to  the  Cointets  ;  they  control  absolute!}'  everything  that 
goes  into  it ;  they  cannot  be  forced  to  insert  anything, 
unless  b}'  the  prefect  or  the  bishop.  Do  3'ou  suppose 
that  your  former  rival,  now  prefect,  is  generous  enough 
to  sing  your  praises?  Have  you  forgotten  that  the 
Cointets  are  suing  us  under  the  name  of  Mctivier, 
hoping,  no  doubt,  to  force  David  to  let  them  profit  by 
his  discoveries  ?  From  whatever  •  quarter  that  article 
comes,  I  think  it  alarming.  When  you  were  here  3'ou 
excited  only  dislike  and  jealousy  ;  they  calumniated  3'ou 
on  the  principle  of  the  proverb  that  '  a  prophet  is  of  no 
honor  in  his  own  country  ; '  and  yet  everything  is  now 
changed  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  !  " 

"You  don't  know  the  self-love  of  towns,  of  prov- 
inces," replied  Lucien.  "  In  one  of  the  small  southern 
towns  the  inhabitants  went  to  the  gates  to  receive  in 
triumph  a  3'oung  man  who  had  won  the  prize  of  honor 
at  the  'grand  concours,'  for  the3'  saw  in  him  the  germ 
of  a  great  man." 

"Listen  to  me,  m3'  dear  Lucien;  I  don't  want  to 
preach  to  3'ou,  but  let  me  sa3'  it  all  in  one  word  :  dis- 
trust everything,  even  the  smallest  things,  here." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Lucien,  surprised  to  find  his 
sister  so  little  enthusiastic. 

The  poet  himself  was  at  the  summit  of  happiness  at 
finding  liis  mean  and  humiliating  return  to  Angoulfime 
transformed  into  a  triuiii[)h. 


Lost  lUusions.  303 

*' Yon  do  not  choose  to  believe  in  the  sh'frht  amount 
of  fame  which  has  cost  us  so  dear !  "  cried  Lucien,  after 
an  hours  silence,  during  which  time  a  storm  had  been 
gathering  in  his  heart. 

For  all  answer  Eve  looked  at  him,  and  the  look  made 
him  ashamed  of  his  accusation. 

A  few  minutes  before  the  dinner  hour  a  servant  from 
the  Prefecture  brought  a  note  addressed  to  Monsieur 
Lucien  Chardon  which  seemed  tojustif)'  the  self-satis- 
faction of  the  poet  whom,  as  it  now  appeared,  society 
desired  to  welcome. 

The  note  contained  the  following  invitation  :  — 

Monsiem*  le  Comte  Sixte  du  Chatelet  and  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse  du  Chatelet  request  the  honor  of  Monsieur  Lucien  Char- 
don's  company  at  dinner  on  the  15th  of  September  next. 

R.  s.  V.  p. 

With  this  note  came  a  card  bearing  the  words  :  "  Le 
Comte  Sixte  du  Chatelet,  Gentleman  of  the  Bedchamber 
in  ordinarv  to  the  King,  Prefect  of  the  Charente,  Coun- 
cillor of  State." 

"■You  are  in  favor,"  said  old  Sechard  ;  "  I  hear  peo- 
ple talking  about  you  as  if  you  were  a  great  person- 
age. The}'  say  I'Houmeau  and  Angonleme  are  wrang- 
ling over  the  honor  of  twisting  wreaths  for  your 
head !  " 

'^  M}'  dear  Eve,"  said  Lucien,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  am 
absolntel}'  as  I  was  that  day  at  I'Honmeau  when  I  was 
invited  to  Madame  de  Bargeton's  —  I  have  no  clothes 
in  which  to  dine  at  the  prefect's." 

"  Do  j-ou  mean  to  accept  his  invitation?  "  cried  Eve, 
terrified. 


304  Lost  Illusions. 

On  this  an  argument  began  between  the  brother  and 
sister  as  to  the  expedienc}'  of  going  or  not  going  to  the 
Prefecture.  The  common-sense  of  the  provincial 
woman  told  Eve  that  Lucien  ought  not  to  appear  in 
societ}'  unless  with  a  smiling  face  and  a  perfectly-  irre- 
proachable dress ;  but  the  real  anxiet}'  that  filled  her 
mind  she  kept  to  herself;  it  was  this  :  "  What  will  be 
the  result  to  Lucien  of  this  dinner?  What  can  the 
great  world  of  Angouleme  want  of  him  ?  May  it  not  be 
some  plot  against  him  ?  '* 

Lucien  finalh-  said  to  his  sister  before  he  went  to  bed, 
"  You  do  not  know  what  m}'  influence  is.  The  wife  of 
the  prefect  is  afraid  of  the  journalist ;  besides,  in  the 
Comtesse  du  Chatelet  I  can  alwa3's  find  Louise  de 
Negrepelisse.  A  woman  who  has  just  attained  so  high 
a  position  can  save  David.  I  will  tell  her  of  the  great 
discovery  m}'  brother  has  made,  and  it  will  be  notliing 
for  her  to  obtain  a  succor  of  ten  thousand  francs  from 
the  ministry." 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  night  the  whole  household 
were  aroused  by  music  in  the  streets ;  the  place  du 
Murier  was  crowded  with  people.  A  serenade  was 
given  to  Lucien  Chardon  de  Rubempre  b}'  the  young 
men  of  Angouleme.  Lucien  went  to  his  sister's  win- 
dow and  said,  after  the  last  piece  and  in  tlie  midst  of 
the  deepest  silence:  "I  thank  my  townsmen  for  the 
honor  they  have  done  me  ;  I  shall  endeavor  to  make 
myself  wortliy  of  it ;  they  will  forgive  me  for  not  saying 
more  ;  m}'  emotion  is  so  great  that  I  cannot  continue." 

*'  Long  live  the  author  of  '  The  Arclier  of  Ciiarles 
IX. !  '"  "  Long  live  the  autlior  of  '  The  Daisies  ! '  " 
**Long  live  Lucien  de  Ivubempiv  !  " 


Lost  Illusions.  305 

After  three  salvos  of  cheers,  shouted  bj  many  voices, 
three  crowns  and  bouquets  were  adroitly  flung  througli 
the  open  window  of  the  room.  Ten  minutes  later  the 
square  was  empt}'  and  silence  reigned. 

''I'd  rather  have  ten  thousand  francs,"  growled  old 
Sechard,  fingering  the  bouquets  with  a  very  contemptu- 
ous air.  "  You  gave  them  daisies,  and  they  give  you 
nosegays.     You  appear  to  deal  in  flowers  !  " 

"  So  that's  your  estimate  oTf  the  honors  my  fellow- 
citizens  bestow  upon  me?"  cried  Lucien,  whose  coun- 
tenance now  wore  an  expression  of  radiant  satisfaction, 
without  a  trace  of  melancholy.  "  If  3'ou  knew  men, 
papa  Sechard,  3'ou  would  know  that  there  are  not  two 
moments  like  these  to  be  met  with  in  a  lifetime.  Noth- 
ing but  true  enthusiasm  can  bestow  such  triumphs ! 
This,  my  dear  mother  and  ni}'  good  sister,  will  efface  all 
griefs."  Lucien  kissed  his  mother  and  Eve  as  people 
kiss  in  those  rare  moments  when  J03'  wells  up  in  waves 
so  mighty  that  we  feel  impelled  to  fling  ourselves  upon 
the  hearts  of  friends.  (In  default  of  friends,  said 
Bixiou  one  day,  an  author  drunk  with  success  em- 
braces his  porter.)  "My  dear  sister,"  cried  Lucien 
suddenly,  "  why  do  you  weep?     Ah  !  I  see,  —  for  joy." 

"  Alas,"  said  Eve  to  her  mother  when  they  were 
alone  before  going  to  bed,  "I  do  believe  there  is,  in  a 
poet,  a  pretty  woman  of  the  worst  kind." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  the  mother,  shaking  her  head, 
"Lucien  has  already'  forgotten  not  only  his  mis- 
fortunes, but  ours." 

The  mother  and  daughter  separated  without  daring 
to  put  their  whole  thought  into  words. 

20 


306  Lost  Illusions, 


VIII. 

THE    MACHIX^RY    OF    AN   OVATION. 

In  countries  consumed  b}*  that  spirit  of  social  insub- 
ordination which  underlies  the  word  equality,  any 
triumph  is  one  of  those  miracles  which,  like  certain 
miracles  of  past  times,  will  not  work  without  a  manipu- 
lator. Out  of  ten  ovations  obtained  b\'  ten  men  and 
awarded  in  the  midst  of  their  fellows,  nine  are  the 
result  of  causes  entireh'  foreign  to  the  man  glorified. 
The  triumph  of  Voltaire  on  the  boards  of  the  Theatre- 
FranQais  was  that  of  the  philosoph}'  of  his  period.  No 
one  can  triumph  in  France  unless  the  crown  fits  the 
heads  of  all  who  acclaim  him.  Tims  the  two  poor  women 
had  cause  for  their  presentiments.  This  ovation  to  the 
great  man  of  the  province  was  too  antipathetic  to  the 
stagnant  ways  of  Angouleme  not  to  have  been  put  in 
motion  either  by  self-interests  or  by  the  hand  of  some 
eager  admirer^X^ve,  like  most  women,  was  distrustful 
through  instinct,  without  being  able  to  explain  to  her- 
self the  causes  of  her  distrust.  She  was  still  thinking 
as  she  went  to  sleep  that  night,  — 

"  Who  in  Angouleme  admires  Lucien  enough  to  have 
stirred  tlie  whole  town  in  tliis  way!  He  has  not  yet 
published  '  Tlie  Daisies  ;  *  wh^'  is  he  congratulated  on  a 
success  he  has  not  obtained?" 


Lost  Illusions.  307 

This  excitement  was  in  fact  the  doing  of  Petit-CIaiul. 
On  the  day  when  the  abbe  tx)ld  him  of  Lucien's  arrival 
at  Marsac,  tlie  law3'er  dined  for  the  first  time  with  Ma- 
dame de  Senonclies,  who  was  then  to  receive  his  formal 
demand  for  the  hand  of  her  goddaughter.  It  was  one 
of  those  family  dinners  the  solemnity  of  which  is  shown 
by  the  style  of  the  gowns  rather  than  by  the  number  of 
the  guests  ;  it  may  be  domestic,  but  it  has  a  purpose,  the 
meaning  of  which  can  be  discerned  on  the  faces  of  all 
present.  Fran^oise  was  dressed  for  exhibition.  Ma- 
dame de  Senonches  flew  the  flag  of  her  most  elegant 
toilet.  Monsieur  du  Hautoy  wore  a  black  coat.  Mon- 
sieur de  Senonches,  to  whom  his  wife  had  written  of 
the  arrival  of  Madame  du  Chatelet  (who  was  to  dine 
with  her  on  this  occasion)  and  of  the  formal  reception 
of  a  suitor  for  Francoise,  had  returned  to  town  from 
Monsieur  de  Pimentel's  preserves.  Cointet  dressed  in 
his  best  brown  coat,  ecclesiastically  cut,  presented  to 
the  eyes  of  all  a  six-thousand- franc  diamond  in  his 
shirt-frill,  —  the  revenge  of  a  rich  merchant  on  these 
poor  aristocrats.  Petit-Claud,  though  brushed  and 
combed  and  well-soaped,  had  not  been  able  to  get 
rid  of  his  dried-up  look.  It  was  impossible  to  avoid  com- 
paring the  skinny  little  lawyer  squeezed  into  his  clothes 
to  a  torpid  viper ;  but  hope  had  so  increased  the  sharp- 
ness of  his  magpie  eyes,  he  aflTected  such  indifference,  he 
curbed  himself  so  tightly,  that  he  attained  to  all  the 
dignity  of  an  ambitious  \\it\e  prociireur  du  roi. 

Madame  de  Senonches  had  requested  her  intimates 
not  to  speak  of  this  first  meeting  of  her  goddaughter 
and  the  suitor,  nor  of  the  fact  that  Madame  du  Chatelet 
would  be  present,  so  that  she  had  everv  reason  to  ex- 


308  Lost  Illusions. 

pect  that  her  rooms  would  be  filled.  The  prefect  and 
his  wife  had  alread}'  made  tlieir  official  visit  b}-  means 
of  cards,  reserving  the  honor  of  a  personal  one  for  this 
occasion.  The  aristocracy  of  Angouleme  were  so  de- 
voured with  curiositj'  on  the  subject  that  several  persons 
in  the  Chandour  camp  proposed  to  spend  the  evening 
at  the  hotel  Bargeton,  —  for  they  persisted  in  not  call- 
ing it  the  hotel  de  Senonches.  The  rumor  of  Madame 
du  Chatelet's  position  in  Pai'isian  society  woke  man}' 
ambitions  ;  moreover,  it  was  said  that  she  had  changed 
for  the  better  wonderful!}',  and  every  one  wished  to 
judge  of  this  improvement  for  themselves.  Learning 
from  Cointet  that  Zephirine  had  obtained  permission  to 
present  him  to  Madame  du  Chatelet  as  the  future  Ims- 
band  of  her  dear  Frangoise,  Petit-Claud  determined  to 
get  some  profit  out  of  the  embarrassing  position  in 
which  Lucien's  return  had  placed  the  late  Madame  de 
Bargeton. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Senonches  had  taken  so 
much  upon  them  by  the  mere  purchase  of  the  house 
that,  like  true  provincials,  they  refrained  from  the  ex- 
pense of  altering  it.  So  the  first  words  of  Zephirine, 
as  she  advanced  to  meet  Madame  du  Cliatelet,  were  : 
"My  dear  Nais,  see!  you  are  once  more  at  home!" 
pointing,  as  she  spoke,  to  the  little  chandelier,  with  the 
glass  pendants,  the  panelled  walls,  and  the  furniture 
which  had  once  so  fiiscinated  Lucien. 

"  That,  dear,  is  what  I  least  care  to  remember,"  said 
the  prefect's  wife  graciously,  casting  a  glance  about  her 
to  examine  the  company. 

Every  one  agreed  that  Louise  de  N^grepelisse  was  no 
longer  like  her  former  self     Parisian  society,  in  which 


Ln^t  Illusions.  309 

she  had  spent  the  last  eighteen  months,  the  first  pleas- 
ures of  her  marriage  which  had  transformed  the  woman 
as  much  as  Paris  had  transformed  the  provincial,  and 
the  sort  of  dignit}'  which  power  gives,  made  Madame  du 
Chatelet  a  woman  who  resembled  Madame  de  Bargeton 
as  a  girl  of  twenty  resembles  her  mother.  IShe  wore  a 
charming  little  head-dress  of  lace  and  flowers,  carelessly 
fastened  on  her  head  by  a  diamond  pin.  Her  hair  was 
in  curls,  which  suited  her  face  and  rejuvenated  it  by 
masking  its  outlines.  She  had  a  foulard  gown,  made 
with  a  pointed  waist  gracefully  fringed,  the  cut  of 
which  (due  to  the  famous  Victorine)  became  her  figure. 
Her  shoulders,  covered  with  a  blonde  fichu,  were 
scarceh'  visible  beneath  a  gauze  scarf  cunningly  wound 
about  her  throat,  which  was  too  long.  She  toyed  with 
one  of  those  pretty  trifles  the  manipulation  of  which  is 
a  rock  of  disaster  to  provincial  women  ;  a  crj'stal  scent- 
bottle  was  fastened  to  her  bracelet  by  a  chain,  and  in 
one  hand  she  held  her  fan  and  her  handkerchief  without 
appearing  to  be  the  least  embarrassed  by  them.  The 
taste  displayed  in  ever3'  detail  of  her  dress,  her  pose 
and  manners  (copied  from  Madame  d'Espard)  proved 
that  Louise  had  been  an  apt  pupil  of  the  faubourg 
Saint-Germain.  As  to  her  husband,  the  old  beau  of  the 
Empire,  marriage  had  ripened  him  like  those  melons 
which  are  green  one  dav  and  turn  vellow  in  a  sing-le 
night.  Finding  on  the  glowing  face  of  the  wife  the 
freshness  which  Sixte  had  lost,  man}'  provincial  sar- 
casms went  round  from  ear  to  ear  ;  all  the  more  because 
the  women,  furious  at  the  new  superiorit}'  of  the  former 
queen  of  Angouleme,  made  the  husband  the  scape-goat 
of  the  wife. 


310  Lost  Illusions. 

Except  for  the  absence  of  Monsieur  de  Chandour  and 
his  wife,  Monsieur  de  Pimentel,  and  the  Rastignacs,  the 
salon  was  filled  with  about  the  same  persons  as  on  the 
day  when  Lucien  read  there  for  the  first  time ;  even 
the  bishop  arrived,  followed  b}'  his  grand-vicars.  Petit- 
Claud,  much  impressed  by  his  first  sight  of  the  Angou- 
lerae  aristocracy,  to  the  heart  of  which  he  had  never  ex- 
pected to  penetrate,  felt  his  hatred  against  the  upper 
classes  getting  much  subdued.  He  thought  the  Com- 
tesse  du  Chatelet  ravishing  as  he  said  to  himself: 
''There's  the  woman  who  can  get  me  appointed 
assistant-procureur !  " 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  evening,  after  talking  for 
about  the  same  length  of  time  to  all  the  women  present, 
varying  the  tone  of  the  interviews  according  to  the  im- 
portance of  the  individual  and  the  course  she  had  taken 
at  the  time  of  the  flight  with  Lucien,  Louise  retired  into 
the  boudoir  with  the  bishop.  Madame  de  Senonches 
then  took  the  arm  of  the  suitor,  whose  heart  beat 
violently,  and  led  him  into  the  boudoir  where  Lucien's 
troubles  had  begun,  and  where  the}'  were  now  to  be 
consummated. 

"  This  is  Monsieur  Petit-Claud,  my  dear,"  said  Zeph- 
irine  to  Nais.  "  I  commend  him  to  you  all  the  more 
warmlj'  because  whatever  you  can  do  for  him  will  bene- 
fit my  goddaughter." 

"Are  you  a  lawyer.  Monsieur?"  said  the  daughter 
of  the  Negrepejisse,  looking  at  the  little  man  as  if  from 
a  height. 

"  Alas,  yes,  Madame  la  comtesse."  (Never  before 
had  the  tailor's  son  had  the  opportunity  of  uttering  those 
last  three  words,  and  his  mouth  seemed  full  of  them.) 


Lost  Illusio7i8.  311 

"  But,"  he  continued,  "  it  depends  on  Madame  la  com- 
tesse  to  advance  me.  Monsieur  Milaud  is,  they  say, 
goin^   to  Xevers  —  " 

''But,*'  said  the  countess,  ''are  you  not  required  to 
be  second  assistant  before  3'ou  are  made  first?  1  should 
be  very  happ}'  to  see  you  first  assistant  at  once  if  it 
could  be  done.  But  before  I  do  anything  to  obtain 
this  favor  for  you  I  should  like  some  assurance  of  your 
devotion  to  legitimac}',  to  religion,  and  above  all  to 
Monsieur  de  Villele." 

"  Ah,  madame,"  said  Petit-Claud,  approaching  her 
and  whispering  in  her  ear,  "I  am  a  man  who  is  rever- 
ently obedient  to  the  king." 

"  That  is  what  ice  need  in  these  days,"  she  replied, 
drawing  back  to  let  him  know  he  was  not  to  whisper  in 
her  ear  again.  "  If  you  and  Madame  de  Senonches  are 
agreed,  you  may  count  on  me,''  she  added,  making  a 
regal  gesture  with  her  fan. 

''  Madame,"  said  Petit-Claud,  who  saw  Cointet  at  the 
door  making  a  sign  to  him.     "  Lucien  is  here." 

"  Monsieur  I  "  said  the  countess,  in  a  tone  which 
would  have  stopped  the  words  in  the  throat  of  an  ordi- 
nary man. 

"Madame  la  comtesse  does  not  understand  me,"  con- 
tinued Petit-Claud,  speaking  in  his  most  respectful  man- 
ner. "  I  desire  to  ofler  her  a  proof  of  my  devotion  to 
her  person.  How  does  Madame  la  comtesse  wish  that 
the  great  man  she  herself  has  made  should  be  received 
in  Angouleme?  " 

Louise  de  N^grepelisse  had  never  thought  of  this 
dilemma,  in  which  she  was  evidently  more  interested 
on  account  of  the  past  than  of  the  present. 


312  Lost  Illusions. 

"  Monsieur  Petit-Claud,"  she  said,  with  a  statel}-  and 
dignified  manner,  "you  wish  to  belong  to  the  govern- 
ment. Remember  that  its  first  principle  is  never  to 
be  in  the  wrong ;  women  have,  even  more  than  gov- 
ernments, the  instinct  of  power  and  the  sentiment  of 
dignity." 

"  So  I  supposed,  madame,"  he  answered  eager!}-,  all 
the  while  watching  the  countess  with  an  attention  which 
though  deep,  was  scarcelj'  visible.  '•  Lucien  has  re- 
turned in  a  state  of  abject  misery.  If  he  should  receive 
an  ovation  I  can  oblige  him,  for  that  ver}'  reason,  to 
leave  Angouleme,  where  his  sister  and  brother-in-law, 
David  Sechard,  are  just  now  harassed  by  a  law-suit." 

Madame  du  Chatelet's  proud  face  showed  a  slight 
emotion  produced  b}'  the  repression  of  lier  satisfaction. 
Surprised  at  being  understood,  she  looked  at  Petit- 
Claud  and  opened  her  fan.  Francoise  de  la  IIa3'e 
coming  into  the  room  at  the  moment  gave  her  time  to 
choose  her  answer. 

"Monsieur,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  "3'ou  will  soon 
be  procureur  du  roi.^' 

Surely  that  was  saying  all,  without  compromising 
herself. 

"  Oh,  madame ! "  cried  Francoise,  "  I  shall  owe  you 
the  happiness  of  all  my  life."  Then  she  stooped  to 
Madame  du  Chatelet's  ear  and  whispered,  with  a  girlish 
gesture,  "  I  should  die  b}'  inches  as  the  wife  of  a  pro- 
vincial lawyer." 

If  Zephirine  tlius  threw  herself  upon  Nais  it  was 
because  Francis,  who  was  not  without  a  certain  knowl- 
edge of  bureaucracy,  urged  lior. 

'*  Remember,"  he  said,  ''  tbat  in  the  first  days  of  an 


Lost  Illusions.  313 

accession  to  power,  whether  it  is  that  of  a  prefect,  a 
dynast}',  or  a  specuhition,  men  are  eager  to  render  ser- 
vices ;  but  they  soon  find  out  the  annoyances  of  patron- 
age and  freeze  over.  To-da}'  Madame  du  Chatelet  will 
make  an  effort  for  Petit-Claud  which  three  months  hence 
she  would  not  make  for  your  husband." 

"But  has  Madame  la  comtesse  thought  of  what  an 
ovation  to  our  poet  involves  ?  He  will  have  to  be  re- 
ceived at  the  Prefecture  during  the  nine  days  the  won- 
der lasts." 

Louise  made  a  sign  with  her  head  dismissing  the  lit- 
tle law3'er ;  then  she  rose  and  went  to  the  door  of  the 
boudoir  to  speak  to  Madame  de  Piraentel  who  was  just 
arriving.  Astonished  at  the  elevation  of  old  Monsieur 
de  Negrepelisse  to  the  peerage,  the  marquise  felt  that 
she  had  better  court  a  woman  who  was  clever  enough  to 
have  increased  her  influence  b}'  making  a  sort  of  quasi 
false  step. 

"  Do  tell  me,  m}-  dear,  w^hy  3'ou  took  the  pains  to 
put  your  father  in  the  Upper  Chamber,"  said  the  mar- 
quise, in  the  midst  of  a  confidential  conversation,  in 
which  she  was  figurativel}-  on  her  knees  before  the  supe- 
riorit}^  of  her  "  dear  Nais." 

'*  My  dear,  they  bestowed  that  favor  because  m}' 
father  has  no  children  and  will  alwaj'S  vote  for  the 
crown  ;  but  if  I  have  sons  I  count  on  getting  the  title 
and  arms  and  peerage  transferred  to  the  eldest." 

Madame  de  Pimentel  sadl}^  perceived  that  she  could 
never  persuade  a  woman  whose  ambition  extended  to 
her  unborn  children,  to  help  her  to  realize  her  ardent 
desire  of  getting  Monsieur  de  Pimentel  raised  to  the 
peerage. 


314  Lost  Illusions. 

*'  I  have  won  the  prefect's  wife,"  said  Petit-Claud  to 
Cointet  as  they  left  the  house,  "  and  I  promise  you  that 
partnership.  In  a  month  I  shall  be  first  assistant-pro- 
cureur  and  you — you  will  be  David  Sechard's  master. 
Tr}^  to  find  me  a  purchaser  for  my  practice,  which  I  have 
made,  in  five  months,  the  best  in  Angouleme." 

"  It  only  needed  to  put  you  on  horseback,"  said 
Cointet,  half  jealous  of  his  own  work. 

We  can  now  understand  the  cause  of  Lucien's  trium- 
phant reception  in  his  own  town.  Like  the  King  of 
France,  who  would  not  avenge  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
Louise  would  not  remember  the  wrongs  done  in  Paris 
to  Madame  de  Bargeton.  She  resolved  to  patronize 
Lucien,  to  crush  him  with  her  protection,  and  get  him 
out  of  the  place  honorably.  Petit-Claud,  who  knew  in 
part  what  had  happened  in  Paris,  relied  on  the  peren- 
nial hatred  women  bear  to  men  who  have  not  had  the 
wit  to  love  them  at  the  moment  when  the}'  wanted  to  be 
loved. 

The  day  of  the  ovation  (which  was  also  to  justify  the 
past  of  Madame  de  Bargeton)  Petit-Claud,  for  tlie  pur- 
pose of  turning  Lucien's  head  still  more,  arrived  at 
Madame  S^^chard's  with  six  young  men  of  the  town, 
all  old  schoolmates  of  Lucien.  This  was  a  deputation 
sent  by  the  rest  of  the  schoolmates  to  the  author  of 
''  The  Archer  of  Charles  IX."  and  "  The  Daisies,"  re- 
questing him  to  be  present  at  the  banquet  they  wished 
to  give  to  a  great  man  who  had  issued  from  their  ranks. 

''That's  you,  Petit-Claud,"  cried  Lucien. 

"Your  return  here,"  said  Petit-Clnud,  '^  lias  stimu- 
lated our  vanity  ;  it  is  a  point  of  honor.  We  have 
clubbed  together  and  we  are   preparing  a  magnificent 


Lost  Illusions.  315 

feast  for  3-011 ;  the  bead  of  the  college  and  all  the  pro- 
fessors are  coming,  and  as  things  look  now,  we  shall 
have  some   of  the  authorities." 

''  What  day  is  it?  "  asked  Lucien. 

''  Xext  Sunday." 

*'Then  I  can't  l)e  present,"  replied  the  poet.  "I 
can't  accept  anything  for  the  next  ten  days  ;  but  after 
that  I  will,  gladly."' 

''  Well,  just  as  you  say,"  said  Petit-Claud.  "  So  be 
it,  — in  tea  days." 

Lucien  was  charming  to  his  comrades,  who  treated 
him  with  an  admiration  that  was  almost  reverential. 
He  talked  for  half  an  hour  with  much  brilliancy,  for  he 
felt  himself  on  a  pedestal,  and  he  wished  to  justify  the 
opinion  of  the  communit}'.  He  put  his  thumbs  in  the 
armholes  of  his  waistcoat,  and  talked  like  a  man  who 
saw  things  from  the  eminence  on  which  his  fellow-citi- 
zens had  placed  him.  He  was  modest,  and  a  good 
fellow,  as  became  a  genius  in  his  off  moments.  His 
tone  was  that  of  an  athlete  fatigued  with  the  arena  of 
Paris,  above  all,  disenchanted,  disillusioned  ;  he  con- 
gratulated his  comrades  on  never  having  left  their 
worthy  provinces.  The}'  departed  one  and  all  delighted 
with  him.  Then  he  called  to  Petit-Claud  and  detained 
him  to  ask  the  truth  about  David's  affairs,  reproaching 
him  for  ever  letting  things  come  to  the  pass  of  obliging 
his  brother-in-law  to  conceal  himself.  Lucien  intended 
to  be  deeper  than  Petit-Claud.  Petit-Claud  endeavored 
to  make  his  former  schoolmate  think  him  a  little  provin- 
cial lawyer  without  either  faculty  or  shrewdness.  The 
constitution  of  modern  society,  which  is  infinitely  more 
complicated  in  its  running-gear  than  the   societies   of 


316  Lr)st  Illusions. 

ancient  times,  has  had  the  effect  of  sub-dividing  the 
faculties  of  mankind.  In  the  olden  time  eminent  men, 
forced  to  be  universal,  appeared  in  small  numbers,  like 
torches  among  the  nations  of  antiquit}*.  Later,  though 
faculties  were  specialized,  their  application  vras  still  to 
the  general  whole.  Thus  a  man  "  rich  in  cunning,"  as 
Louis  XI.  called  it,  applied  his  cunning  generall}'.  But 
to-day  the  quality  itself  is  sub-divided.  For  example  : 
so  man}'  professions  mean  so  man}'  different  forms  of 
cunning.  A  wil}'  diplomatist  ma}'  be  tricked  in  the 
provinces  by  a  very  common  lawyer  or  by  a  peasant. 
The  most  crafty  of  journalists  can  be  fooled  in  a  matter 
of  commercial  interests,  and  Lucien  was  fitted  to  be  and 
did  become  the  plaything  and  tool  of  Petit-Claud.  That 
malicious  little  lawyer  had  himself  written  the  article 
which  announced  that  the  town  of  Angouleme  felt  it  due 
to  its  own  dignity  to  receive  its  great  man.  Lucien's 
fellow-citizens  who  assembled  on  the  place  du  Murier 
were  the  workmen  in  the  printing-house  and  paper  fac- 
tory of  the  Cointets,  accompanied  by  the  clerks  in  the 
oflices  of  Petit-Claud  and  Cachan,  together  with  a  num- 
ber of  their  schoolmates.  By  making  himself  at  once 
Lucien's  intimate,  Petit-Claud  thought,  with  good  reason, 
that  sooner  or  later  he  should  get  from  him  the  secret  of 
David's  retreat.  If  David  were  betrayed  through  Lucien 
the  latter  could  certainly  not  remain  in  Angouleme. 

"  What  would  n't  I  have  done  to  assist  David,"  said 
the  lawyer,  in  reply  to  Lucien's  reproaches,  "  if  only  for 
the  sister  of  my  old  friend?  but  in  law,  you  understand, 
there  are  positions  to  which  every  thing  must  be  sacri- 
ficed. David  asked  me  on  the  1st  of  June  to  guarantee 
him  three  months  tranquillity ;  he  is  not  in  any  danger 


Lost  Illusions.  317 

till  September,  and,  moreover,  I  have  managed  to  se- 
cure all  his  property  from  his  creditors,  —  for  I  shall 
certainl}'  gain  the  suit  before  the  Koyal  Court ;  I  shall 
get  a  judgment  that  the  rights  of  the  wife  are  absolute, 
and  that  in  this  case  they  cover  no  fraud.  As  to  you, 
m}'  dear  friend,  you  have  come  back  poor,  but  you  are  a 
man  of  genius/'  (Lucieu  made  a  gesture  as  if  the  incense 
were  swung  too  near  his  nose.)  "Yes,  dear  Lucien," 
continued  Petit-Claud,  •'  I  have  read  '  The  Archer  of 
Charles  IX.,'  and  it  is  more  than  a  book,  it  is  a  work  of 
genius.  There  are  but  two  men  in  France  who  could 
have  written  that  preface,  — Chateaubriand  and  you  !  " 

Lucien  accepted  the  compliment  and  refrained  from 
saj'ing  that  the  preface  was  written  by  Daniel  d'Arthez. 
Out  of  one  hundred  French  authors,  ninety-nine  would 
have  done  the  same. 

*'  Well,  here  in  your  native  town  no  one  seemed  to 
knowj'ou,"  continued  Petit-Claud,  pretending  indigna- 
tion. "  When  I  saw  the  general  indifference,  I  took  it 
into  m\'  head  to  revolutionize  opinion.  I  wrote  the 
article  you  read  —  " 

"  You  I  did  you  write  it?  "  cried  Lucien. 

"I,  m3'self.  Angouleme  and  I'Houmeau  were  made 
rivals  ;  I  collected  those  young  men,  your  old  school- 
mates, and  organized  the  serenade  last  night ;  then, 
once  launched  into  enthusiasm,  we  subscribed  for  the 
dinner.  I  said  to  myself,  '  Never  mind  whether  David 
is  still  in  hiding,  Lucien  shall  be  crowned  at  any  rate.' 
Besides  this,  I  have  done  my  best  in  other  ways,"  con- 
tinued Petit-Claud.  "I  have  seen  the  Comtesse  du 
Chatelet,  and  I  have  made  her  understand  that  she  owes 
it  to  herself  to  pull  David  out  of  danger  ;  she  can  do  it, 


318  Lest  Illusions. 

and  she  ought  to  do  it.  If  David  has  reall}-  made  the 
discovery  he  told  me  about,  the  authorities  ought  to  sus- 
tain him ;  and  what  a  thing  it  would  be  for  the  new 
prefect  to  share  in  the  honor  of  so  great  an  invention 
by  affording  protection  to  its  discoverer.  Everybod}' 
w^ould  taliv  of  him  as  an  enlightened  administrator.  Your 
sister  is  afraid  of  our  judicial  musketr}' ;  she  is  fright- 
ened by  the  smoke.  Legal  warfare  costs  as  much  as 
that  on  the  battlefield  ;  but  David  has  maintained  his 
position,  —  he  is  master  of  his  secret ;  he  can't  be 
arrested,  and  he  will  not  be  arrested." 

"  Thank  3'ou,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Lucien,  "  I  see  I 
can  trust  you  with  my  plan,  and  you  will  help  me  to 
carry  it  out."  (Petit-Claud  locked  at  Lucien,  giving  to  his 
gimlet  nose  the  appearance  of  an  interrogation  mark.) 
"  I  wish  to  save  David,"  continued  Lucien,  with  an  air 
of  importance.  "  I  am  the  cause  of  his  misfortunes  ;  I 
shall  repair  all ;  I  have  more  influence  over  Louise  — '' 

''  Louise  !  who  is  she?  " 

"The  Comtesse  du  Chatelet."  (Petit-Claud  gave  a 
start.)  "  I  have  more  influence  over  her  than  she  herself 
is  aware  of,"  continued  Lucien  ;  "  onl}',  m}-  dear  fellow, 
though  I  may  have  a  secret  power  in  your  government, 
I  have  no  clothes  —  " 

Petit-Claud  made  a  movement  as  if  to  ofler  his  purse. 

"Thank  you,  no,'"  said  Lucien,  pressing  his  friends 
hand,  "  In  ten  days  from  now  I  shall  call  on  Madame 
du  Chatelet,  and  then  I  will  return  your  visit." 

The}'  se])arated  with  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand  like 
comrades. 

"  He  ought  to  be  a  poet,"  thought  Petit-Claud,  "  for 
he  is  crazy." 


Lost  Illusions.  319 

"They  ma}'  say  what  thc}^  like,"  thought  Lucien, 
''  but  in  the  matter  of  friends  there  are  none  to  com- 
pare with  old  schoolmates." 

"  Dear  Lucien,"  said  Eve  when  he  talked  to  her  of 
his  friend,  "  what  has  Petit-Claud  been  saying  to  make 
you  feel  thus?     Beware  of  him  !  " 

"Of  him?"  cried  Lucien.  "  Listen,  Eve,"  he  went 
on,  apparentl}^  following  out  some  reflection,  "  3'ou  no 
longer  believe  in  me  ;  you  distrust  me ;  you  also  dis- 
trust Petit-Claud  unjustl}' ;  but  in  twelve  or  fifteen  daj^s 
3'ou  will  change  your  opinion,"  he  added,  with  a  con- 
ceited smile. 

Then  he  retired  to  his  room  and  wrote  the  following 
letter  to  one  of  his  journalistic  friends  in  Paris  :  — 

My  dear  Lousteau,  —  Of  us  two,  I  am  probably  the  only 
one  who  remembers  that  I  lent  you  a  thousand  francs.  But 
I  know,  alas  too  well,  the  situation  in  which  you  are  sure  to 
be  when  you  open  this  letter  not  to  say  at  once  that  I  don't 
ask  for  them  back  in  gold  and  silver, —  no,  simply  in  credit. 
You  and  I  have  the  same  tailor,  you  can  therefore  order  for 
me,  on  your  credit  and  with  the  briefest  delay,  a  complete 
fit-out.  ^Yithout  being  precisely  in  the  dress  of  Adam,  I  can- 
not show  myself.  Here,  the  honors  of  the  department  due 
to  a  distinguished  Parisian  await  me  —  to  my  great  sur- 
prise. I  am  the  hero  of  a  banquet,  for  all  the  world  as 
though  I  were  a  deputy.  Xow  you  see  the  absolute  necessity 
for  a  black  coat.  Promise  payment ;  have  the  things  charged 
to  you;  invent  some  new  Don  Juanism,  for  I  must  have 
clothes  at  any  price  —  I  am  in  rags  !  Hei-e  it  is  September ; 
weather  magnificent ;  ergo  be  sure  that  I  receive,  by  the  end 
of  this  week,  a  charming  morning  suit,  to  wit :  small  frock 
coat,  green-bronze,  dark  ;  three  waistcoats,  —  one,  sulphur 
color;    another,  fancy  material,  Scotch  pattern;   third,  all 


320  Lost  Illusions. 

white  ;  next,  three  pairs  of  trousers  to  kill  the  loomen,  —  one, 
English  stuff,  white ;  the  second,  nankeen ;  the  third,  thin 
black  cassimere ;  and  finally,  a  black  coat  and  a  black  satin 
waistcoat  for  evening  wear.  If  you  have  replaced  Florine  by 
another  of  her  kind,  I  petition  her  for  two  cravats. 

But  all  this  is  nothing ;  I  know  I  can  rely  on  you,  or  your 
cleverness  ;  I  am  not  uneasy  about  the  tailor.  But  there  is 
something  else  !  My  dear  friend,  how  many  times  have  you 
and  I  deplored  that  the  intellect  of  poverty  (which  certainly 
is  the  most  active  poison  that  destroys  the  man  of  men,  the 
Parisian !), —  that  our  intellect,  the  activity  of  which  surprises 
Satan  himself,  has,  so  far,  been  unable  to  find  a  way  to  get  a 
hat  on  credit.  When  fashion  gives  to  the  world  hats  that 
are  worth  a  thousand  francs  we  shall  be  able  to  get  them  on 
credit,  but  till  then,  we  must  have  enough  money  in  our 
pockets  to  pay  for  them.  I  feel,  I  profoundly  feel  the  diffi- 
culties I  put  upon  you  by  this  request.  Add  a  pair  of  boots, 
a  pair  of  pumps,  six  pairs  of  gloves  to  be  sent  by  the  tailor. 
It  is  requiring  the  impossible,  I  know  that.  But  is  n't  lit- 
eraiy  life  itself  the  impossible? 

May  I  suggest  one  thing  ?  Perform  this  prodigy  by  writing 
some  great  article  or  doing  some  small  infamy,  and  I  will  re- 
lease you  from  that  thousand  francs  and  discharge  the  debt. 
Remember,  it  was  a  debt  of  honor,  and  has  been  running 
now  twelve  months ;  you  would  blush,  I  know,  if  you  could 
blush! 

My  dear  Lousteau,  joking  apart,  I  am  in  serious  circum- 
stances. You  will  understand  this  when  I  tell  you  that  the 
Cuttle-fish  has  grown  fat,  and  has  married  the  Heron,  and  the 
Heron  is  now  prefect  of  Angouleme.  This  dreadful  couple 
can  do  much  for  my  brother-in-law,  whom  I  have  placed  in  a 
frightful  position ;  the  sheriff  is  trying  to  arrest  him  ;  he  is 
in  hiding ;  it  is  all  about  those  notes  of  hand.  I  must  reap- 
pear to  the  eyes  of  the  prefect's  zvife,  and  recover  my  influ- 
ence over  her  at  any  price.  Is  n't  it  frightful  to  tliink  that 
David  Sechard's    future    depends  on  a  handsome   pair  of 


Loist  Illusions.  321 

boots,  gray  silk  stockings  (mind  you  don't  forget  them),  and 
a  new  hat  ?  I  shall  give  out  that  I  am  ill,  and  stay  in  bed 
to  dispense,  as  Duvicquet  says,  with  responding  to  the  at- 
tentions of  my  fellow-citizens.  My  fellow-citizens,  by  the 
bye,  have  given  me  a  charming  serenade.  I  am  beginning 
to  ask  myself  how  many  fools  go  to  the  composition  of 
those  three  words  '  my  fellow-citizens,'  now  that  I  know  the 
enthusiasm  of  Angouleme  was  set  a-going  by  some  of  my 
schoolmates. 

If  you  could  manage  to  insert  among  your  items  a  few 
lines  about  my  reception  here  you  would  make  me  taller  by 
several  boot-heels.  Moreover,  it  would  teach  the  Cuttle-fish 
that  I  have,  if  not  friends,  at  least  some  power  over  the 
Parisian  press.  As  I  have  lost  none  of  my  hopes  and  ex- 
pectations I  will  retui-n  you  this  service  in  kind.  If  you 
want  a  fine  article  of  some  depth  for  any  of  your  publica- 
tions I  have  time  now  to  think  it  up.  ]My  last  word  is,  dear 
friend  —  I  count  on  you  as  you  may  count  on 

Yours  ever, 

LUCIEN    DE    R. 

P.  S.  Address  the  packages  to  me,  by  diligence,  Coach 
Ofl&ce,  to  be  left  till  called  for. 

This  letter,  in  which  Lucien  resumed  the  tone  of  su- 
periority which  his  success  had  produced  in  bis  inner 
man,  recalled  Paris  to  him.  Existing  for  the  last  week 
in  the  dead  calm  of  provincial  life,  his  thoughts  went  to 
the  gay  days  of  his  misery,  and  he  began  to  have  vague 
regrets  and  longings  for  them.  He  gave  himself  up  for 
the  next  week  to  thoughts  of  Madame  du  Chatelet.  He 
attached  so  much  importance  to  his  reappearance  in 
her  society  that  as  he  ran  down  to  I'Houmeau  after 
dark,  to  inquire  at  the  coach-ofBce  for  the  parcels  he 
expected  from  Paris,  he  suffered  as  many   agonies  of 

21 


322  "  Lost  Illusions. 

uncertain t}'  as  a  woman  who  sets  her  last  hope  upon  a 
dress  which  she  despairs  of  receiving. 

'•  All,  LoListean  !  I  forgive  you  all  your  treachery!" 
he  said  to  himself  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  packages 
and  knew  by  their  shapes  that  they  contained  all  he  had 
asked  for. 

He  found  the  following  letter  in  the  hat-box :  — 

From  Florine's  Salon. 

My  dear  Boy,  —  The  tailor  behaved  very  well ;  but  (as 
your  sagacious  retrospective  glance  enabled  you  to  surmise) 
the  cravats,  the  hat,  the  silk  stockings  brought  trouble  to 
our  souls  —  for  there  was  nothing  to  trouble  in  our  purses. 
We  all  agree  with  Blondet  that  there  is  a  fortune  to  be 
made  by  setting  up  a  shop  where  young  men  could  get  the 
things  which  cost  next  to  nothing.  Besides,  did  not  the 
great  Napoleon  when  stopped  on  his  way  to  India  by  the 
want  of  a  pair  of  boots,  remark  that  '•  easy  things  are  never 
done  ?  "  This  means  that  all  went  well,  except  the  footgear 
and  —  the  hat !  I  saw  you  dressed  to  perfection  but  minus 
a  hat,  waistcoated  without  shoes,  and  I  thought  of  sending 
you  a  pair  of  moccasins  which  an  American  gave  to  Florine 
as  a  curiosity.  Florine  gave  us  a  capital-stock  of  forty 
francs  with  which  to,  play  for  your  minor  things.  Nathan, 
Blondet  and  I  had  such  luck  (just  because  we  were  not  play- 
ing for  ourselves)  that  we  were  able  to  take  La  Torpille,  des 
Lupeaulx's  former  ballet-girl,  to  supper.  Frascati  owed  us 
that,  at  any  rate. 

Florine  took  charge  of  the  purchases,  and  she  has  added 
three  fine  linen  shirts  on  her  own  account.  Nathan  sends 
you  a  cane  ;  Blondet  (who  won  three  hundred  francs),  a  gold 
chain;  and  La  Torpille,  a  gold  watch,  big  as  a  forty-franc 
piece,  which  some  fool  gave  her,  and  which  does  'nt  go. 
Bixiou,  who  joined  us  at  the  Rocher  de  Cancale,  insisted  on 
adding  a  bottle  of  eau  de  Portugal  to  these  various  gifts 


Lost  lUusions.  323 

uhich  all  Paris  sends  you.  Our  first  comedian  remarked, 
with  that  deep  bass  voice  and  bouri^eois  pomposity  he  takes 
off  so  well,  *'  If  such  be  his  happiness  let  him  be  happy." 
All  this,  my  dear  fellow,  ought  to  prove  to  you  that  we  love 
our  friends  in  misfortune.  Florine,  whom  I  have  been  weak 
enough  to  forgive,  begs  you  to  send  us  an  article  on  Nathan's 
last  book. 

Adieu,  my  son.  I  can't  help  pitying  you  for  being  forced 
to  return  to  the  region  you  had  just  escaped  when  you  made 

a  comrade  of 

Your  friend, 

Etienxe  Lousteau. 

"Poor  fellows!  the}*  played  for  me  I "  thought  Lu- 
cien,  quite  affected. 

There  come  sometimes  from  poisonous  localities,  or 
from  places  where  men  have  greatl}-  suffered,  wafts  of 
an  odor  that  seems  of  Paradise. 

Eve  was  amazed  when  her  brother  came  down  in  his 
new  clothes.     She  did  not  recognize  him. 

''  Now  I  can  go  and  walk  in  Beaulieu,"  he  cried. 
"  Nobody  can  say  of  me,  '  He  came  back  in  rags.'  See, 
here  is  a  watch  I'll  give  yon,  for  it  is  really  mine, — 
besides,  it  is  like  me  ;  it  is  all  out  of  order  and  does  n't 

go." 

"  TVhat  a  child  you  are  !  "  said  Eve  ;  "  one  can't  be 
angry  with  you."' 

''Do  you  believe,  my  dear  girl,  that  I  have  got  all 
these  fine  things  for  the  silly  purpose  of  dazzling  the 
eyes  of  Angouleme.  for  which  I  don't  care  that  f  "  he 
said,  striking  the  air  with  his  cane,  which  had  a  chased 
gold  knob.  '•  I  want  to  repair  the  harm  I  have  done, 
and  I  have  put  myself  underarms;  you'll  know  why 
soon." 


324  .       Lost  Illusions. 

Lncien's  success  as  a  fop  was  the  onl}-  real  triumph 
he  obtained  ;  but  that  was  immense.  Env}'  thaws  as 
man}'  tongues  as  admiration  freezes.  The  women 
raved  about  him,  the  men  sneered ;  he  could  well 
exclaim,  in  the  words  of  the  song :  '  Oh,  my  coat,  I 
thank  thee ! '  He  left  two  cards  at  the  Prefecture,  and 
paid  a  visit  to  Petit-Claud,  who  was  not  at  home.  The 
next  da}',  which  was  the  da}-  of  the  banquet,  the  Paris 
journals  all  contained,  under  the  heading  of  "  Angou- 
ieme,"  the  following  remarks  :  — 

Angouleme  :  The  return  of  a  young  poet  whose  debut 
has  been  most  brilliant  —  the  author,  we  mean,  of  "  The  Archer 
of  Charles  IX.,"  the  sole  historic  novel  written  in  France 
which  is  not  an  imitation  of  Walter  Scott,  and  the  preface 
to  which  is  a  literary  event  —  has  been  marked  by  an  ova- 
tion as  flattering  to  the  town  itseK  as  it  is  to  Monsieur 
Lucien  de  Rubempre.  The  new  prefect,  who  is  hardly  yet 
installed,  has  joined  in  this  public  manifestation  by  showing 
attentions  to  the  author  of  "  The  Daisies,"  whose  genius  was 
so  warmly  encouraged  from  the  first  by  Madame  la  Comtesse 
du  Chatelet." 

In  France,  when  an  impulse  of  this  kind  is  once 
given  there  is  no  stopping  it.  The  colonel  of  the 
regiment  in  garrison  offered  his  band.  The  steward 
of  the  Cloche  hotel,  whose  exportations  of  truflled 
turkey  go  as  far  as  China,  sent  his  contribution  in 
magnificent  porcelain  dishes ;  the  famous  innkeeper 
of  riloumeau,  in  whose  establishment  the  banquet  was 
served,  decorated  his  large  hall  with  flags,  on  which 
crowns  of  laurel  interspersed  with  bouquets  made  a 
fine  eflfect.  By  five  o'clock  forty  persons  were  as- 
sembled, all  in  evening  dress.     A  hundred  or  more  ol 


■  Lost  Illu8io7is.  325 

* 
the  inhabitants,  attracted  principally  b}*  the  band  which 
was  stationed  in  the  courtyard,  represented  the  fellow- 
citizens. 

••  All  Angoulenae  is  here  !  "  said  Petit-Claud,  station- 
ing himself  at  a  window. 

••I  can't  understand  a  bit  about  it,"  said  Ppstel  to 
his  wife,  who  had  come  to  hear  the  music.  "Good- 
ness !  here 's  the  prefect,  the  receiver-general,  the 
colonel,  the  director  of  the  powder-magazine !  and 
there  's  our  deputy,  and  the  mayor,  the  judge,  the  head- 
master, and  Monsieur  Milaud  the  procureur  da  roi  — 
why,  all  the  authorities  have  come  !  " 

As  the  company  sat  down  to  table,  the  militar}'  band 
began,  with  variations  on  the  air:  ''Vive  le  roi,  vive 
la  France  !  "  which  by  the  bye,  never  became  popular. 
This  was  at  five  o'clock.  At  eight,  a  dessert  of  sist}'- 
five  dishes,  remarkable  for  an  Olympus  in  sugar-cand}' 
surmounted  by  a  France  in  chocolate,  was  the  signal 
for  the  toasts. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  prefect,  rising.  "  The  King! 
the  Legitimacy  !  Do  we  not  owe  to  the  peace  which 
the  Bourbons  have  restored  to  us  the  generation  of 
poets  and  thinkers  who  maintain  in  the  hands  of  France 
the  sceptre  of  our  literature?  " 

"  Vive  le  roi !  "  cried  the  guests,  among  whom  the 
ministerials  were  in  full  force. 

The  venerable  head  of  the  college  rose.  "Let  us 
drink,''  he  said,  "  to  the  young  poet,  the  hero  of  the 
day ;  who  has  known  how  to  add  to  the  grace  and 
poesy  of  Petrarch  the  talent  of  a  prose-writer,  —  and 
that  in  a  style  which  Boileau  declared  so  difficult." 

**  Bravo  !  bravo  I "" 


326  ,      Lost  Illusions, 

The  colonel  rose. 

"  Gentlemen,  to  the  Royalist!  for  the  hero  of  this  fes- 
tival has  had  the  courage  to  defend  right  principles." 

''Bravo!"  said  the  prefect,  giving  a  tone  to  the 
applause. 

Petit-Claud  rose. 

"In  the  name  of  all  Lucien's  comrades,  I  call  upon 
you  to  drink  to  the  health  of  the  glory  of  the  College  of 
Angouleme  —  our  venerable  Head-Master ;  who  is  so 
dear  to  all  of  us,  and  to  whom  we  owe  whatever  suc- 
cess in  life  we  ma}*  obtain." 

The  old  head-master,  who  did  not  expect  the  toast, 
wiped  his  eyes. 

Lucieu  rose  ;  the  deepest  silence  prevailed  ;  the  poet 
turned  white.  At  that  moment  the  old  head-master 
laid  a  crown  of  laurel  on  his  head.  Everybody 
clapped  their  hands.  Lucien  had  tears  in  his  eyes  and 
in  his  voice. 

''He  is  drunk,"  whispered  Petit-Claud's  neighbor. 

"  Yes,  but  not  with  wine,"  replied  the  lawyer. 

*'  My  dear  townsmen,  my  dear  comrades,"  said 
Lucien  at  last,  "  I  would  that  all  France  were  witness 
of  this  scene.  It  is  thus  that  men  are  lifted  into  great- 
ness—  thus  that  noble  works  and  splendid  actions  are 
obtained  in  this  land  of  ours.  But,  seeing  the  little 
that  I  have  done  and  the  great  honors  that  I  receive, 
I  cannot  be  otherwise  than  confused ;  I  look  to  the 
future  to  justify  the  greeting  you  bestow  upon  me 
to-day.  The  memory  of  tliis  hour  will  give  me  courage 
to  meet  new  dilliculties.  Permit  me  to  offer  to  your 
homage  the  name  of  the  lady  who  was  m^'  first  inspira- 
tion and  my  patroness,  and  also  to  drink  the  health  of 


Lost  Illusions.  327 

my  native  town.  I  give  you,  therefore,  the  beautiful 
Conitesse  Sixte  du  Chatelet,  and  the  noble  town  of 
Angouleme  !  " 

"  He  did  tliat  prettj'  well,"  said  i\\Q  procureur  du  roi, 
nodding  his  head  in  token  of  approval ;  ''  for  our  toasts 
were  prepared,  but  his  was  improvised." 

At  ten  o'clock  the  guests  departed  in  groups.  David 
Sechard,  hearing  the  unusual  sounds  of  music,  said  to 
Basine :  "What  is  going  on  in  THoumeau?" 

"  A  banquet  to  your  brother-in-law,"  she  replied. 

"  I  know  he  must  be  sorry  not  to  have  me  there," 
said  David. 

B}'  midnight  Petit-Claud  and  Lucien  had  returned  to- 
gether to  the  place  du  Murier.  There,  Lucien  said  to 
the  law3'er,  as  the}"  parted,'  "  My  dear  fellow,  between 
ourselves,  I  will  admit  to  you  that  this  is  a  matter  of 
life  or  death." 

"To-morrow,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  my  marriage  con- 
tract is  to  be  signed  at  Madame  de  Senonches'  house  ; 
I  am  to  marry  her  goddaughter.  Mademoiselle  Fran- 
coise  de  la  Have.  Do  me  the  pleasure  of  being  pres- 
ent. Madame  de  Senonches  asked  me  to  bring  you, 
and  you  will  there  see  Madame  du  Chatelet,  who  will 
no  doubt  be  extremely  flattered  by  your  toast,  for  they 
will  certainly  tell  her  of  it." 

"  I  have  mv  own  ideas,"  said  Lucien. 

"  Oh,  you'll  save  David  !  "  said  the  lawyer,  smiling. 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,"  replied  the  poet. 

At  this  instant  David  suddenl}'  appeared  as  if  by 
magic ;  and  this  is  how  it  happened. 

He  had  been  placed  in  a  very  difficult  position  ;  his 
wife  forbade  him  absolutely'  to  see  Lucien  or  even  to 


328  -    Lost  Illusions. 

let  her  brother  know  where  he  wfis.  Lucien,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  writing  him  the  most  affectionate  let- 
ters, assuring  him  that  in  a  few  clays  he  should  have 
undone  all  the  harm  he  had  done  him.  Mademoiselle 
Clerget  had  given  David  the  following  letters,  when  she 
told  him  the  cause  of  the  music,  the  sound  of  which 
had  reached  his  ears : — 

My  dear  Husband,  —  Continue  to  act  as  if  Lucien  were 
not  here.  Do  not  be  uneasy  at  anything ;  and  get  into  your 
dear  head  this  one  assurance :  our  safety  depends  entirely  on 
the  impossibility  of  your  enemies  finding  out  where  you  are. 
It  is  my  misfortune  that  I  have  more  confidence  in  Kolb,  in 
Marion,  in  Basine,  than  in  my  brother.  Alas  I  my  poor 
Lucien  is  no  longer  the  open-hearted,  tender  poet  that  he 
once  was.  It  is  precisely  because  he  wants  to  meddle  in 
your  affairs  and  professes  (out  of  vanity,  dear  David)  to  be 
able  to  pay  our  debts,  that  I  fear  him.  He  has  received 
some  handsome  clothes  from  Paris,  and  five  gold  louis  in  a 
pretty  pm'se.  He  gave  me  the  money,  and  that  is  what  we 
are  now  living  on. 

We  have  now  one  enemy  the  less,  for  your  father  has  left 
us ;  we  owe  that  to  Petit-Claud,  who  discovered  his  inten- 
tions and  cut  them  short  at  once  by  telling  him  you  would 
take  no  steps  without  first  consulting  him,  Petit-Claud,  and 
that  he  would  not  allow  you  to  part  with  any  share  in  your 
invention  unless  for  an  indemnity,  paid  in  advance,  of  thirty 
thousand  francs,  —  fifteen  thousand  to  clear  yourself,  and 
fifteen  thousand  more  to  be  paid  in  any  case,  success  or  no 
success.     Petit-Claud  is  inexplicable  to  me. 

I  kiss  you,  dear,  as  a  wife  kisses  a  troul)led  husband.  Our 
little  Lucien  is  well.  AVhat  a  sight  it  is  to  see  that  tender 
blossom  opening  and  coloring  in  the  midst  of  our  storm  1 
My  mother,  as  usual  prays  to  (iod  and  sends  you  her  tender 
love.  Your  Eve. 


Lost  Illusions.  329 

Petit-Claud  and  the  Cointets,  alarmed  at  old  Se- 
chaid's  peasant  wiiiness,  had,  as  this  letter  tells  us,  got 
rid  of  him,  —  all  the  more  easil}',  however,  because  his 
vintage  required  him  in  Marsac. 

Luciea's  letter,  inclosed  in  that  of  Eve,  was  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

My  dear  David,  —  All  goes  well.  I  am  armed  from 
head  to  foot;  I  enter  upon  the  campaign  to-day  ;  in  a  couple 
more  days  I  shall  have  made  great  strides.  With  what  de- 
light shall  T  put  my  arms  around  you  when  you  are  once 
more  at  liberty  and  released  from  mij  debts  !  But  I  am 
wounded  to  the  heart,  and  for  life,  by  the  distrust  my  sister 
and  my  mother  still  show  to  me.  As  if  I  did  not  know  that 
you  were  at  Basine's  !  Every  time  Basine  conies  to  the  house 
I  am  told  news  of  you  and  I  get  your  answers  to  my  letters. 
Besides,  it  is  evident  that  my  sister  has  no  one  else  to  trust 
than  that  friend  of  hers.  To-day  I  shall  be  close  to  you, 
and  cruelly  distressed  that  you  are  not  present  at  a  banquet 
they  give  me  in  I'Houmeau.  I  owe  to  the  self-love  of  An- 
gouleme  a  little  triumph  which  will  be  forgotten  in  a  few 
days ;  your  joy,  could  you  be  present,  would  have  been  to 
me  the  one  true  thing  about  it. 

"  Well,  a  few  days  more,  and  you  will  have  reason  to  for- 
give him  who  counts  it  more  than  all  the  fame  in  the  world 
to  be 

Yom-  brother, 

LUCIEN. 

David's  heart  was  sharply  tugged  on  both  sides  by 
these  two  forces,  although  they  were  unequal ;  for  he 
adored  his  wife  and  his  atfection  for  Lucien  was  dimin- 
ished by  the  loss  of  some  esteem.  But  in  solitude 
the  power  of  feelings  undergoes  a  change.  A  lonely 
man,  in  the  grasp  of  preoccupations  such  as  now  pos- 


330  -Lost  Illusions. 

sessed  David,  yields  to  thoughts  against  which  he  would 
find  support  in  the  ordinary  course  of  life.  Reading 
Lucien's  letter  within  sound  of  the  music  of  his  unex- 
pected triumph,  David  was  deeply  moved  to  find  ex- 
pressed therein  the  regret  at  his  absence  on  which  his 
heart  had  counted.  Tender  souls  are  not  proof  against 
such  touches  of  feeling,  which  they  think  as  true  in 
others  as  they  would  be  in  themselves.  Surely  they 
are  the  drops  of  water  which  fall  from  the  overflowing 
cup?  So,  about  midnight,  all  Basine's  entreaties  were 
powerless  to  keep  David  from  going  to  see  Lucien. 

'^No  one,"  he  said,  "is  in  the  streets  at  this  hour; 
I  shall  not  be  seen  ;  besides,  they  can't  arrest  me  at 
night,  and  in  case  they  do  see  me  I  can  alwa3's  use 
Kolb's  method  of  getting  awa}'.  It  is  too  long  a  time 
since  I  have  kissed  m}^  wife  and  child." 

Basine  yielded  to  these  rather  plausible  reasons  and 
let  David  out.  He  reached  the  place  du  Muricr  and 
cried  out,  "Lucien!"  just  as  Lucien  and  Petit-Claud 
were  bidding  each  other  good  night.  The  two  brothers 
flung  themselves  into  each  other's  arms,  with  tears  in 
their  eyes.  There  are  not  many  such  moments  in  life. 
Lucien  felt  the  effusion  of  one  of  those  attachments 
beyond  perad venture  with  which  we  never  reckon,  and 
which  we  bitterl}'  reproach  ourselves  for  deceiving. 
David,  on  the  other  hand,  felt  the  need  of  forgiving; 
the  noble,  generous  inventor  was  above  all  things  anx- 
ious to  correct  Lucien's  error  and  brush  away  the  clouds 
which  obscured  the  alfection  of  brother  and  sister.  Be- 
fore such  considerations  of  feeling,  the  dangers  caused 
b}''  want  of  money  vanished. 

Petit-Claud  said  to  his  client,  ''Go  in  at  once  ;  profit, 


Lost  Illusions.  331 

at  any  rate,  by  your  imprudence ;  embrace  your  wife 
and  child,  but  let  no  one  see  you." 

''  What  a  misfortune  ! ''  he  added,  when  he  was  left 
alone  on  the  place  du  Mfirier.  '-Ah!  if  Cerizet  were 
only  here  !  " 

As  the  lawyer  said  these  words  half  aloud  to  himself, 
he  was  walking  along  beside  the  boarding  which  con- 
cealed a  building  then  in  process  of  construction,  and 
now  called  majestically  the  Palace  of  Justice.  As  he 
passed  he  heard  a  noise  from  within,  like  the  tapping 
of  a  finger  on  a  door. 

"  It  is  I,"  said  Cerizet,  whose  voice  came  through  a 
gap  between  two  planks.  "  I  saw  David  leaving  I'Hou- 
meau.  I  was  beginning  to  suspect  his  hiding-place, 
and  now  I  am  sure  of  it ;  1  can  catch  him  any  da}'. 
But  before  I  can  set  my  trap  I  must  know  something  of 
Lucien's  plans  ;  and  here  you  have  let  them  go  into  the 
house  !  Do  stay  here  on  some  pretence  or  other,  and 
when  David  and  Lucien  come  out  get  them  to  walk 
this  way.  They  will  think  themselves  alone  and  I  shall 
hear  their  last  words." 

"  You  are  a  master-devil !  "  said  Petit-Claud,  in  a  low 
voice. 

''Heavens  and  earth!"  cried  Ce'rizet.  "What 
would  n't  a  man  be  to  get  what  you  have  promised  me?  " 

Petit-Claud  left  the  boarding  and  walked  about  the 
place  du  Miirier,  looking  at  the  windows  of  the  room 
where  the  family  were  reunited,  and  thinking  of  his  own 
future  to  give  himself  courage  —  for  Cerizet's  cleverness 
enabled  him  to  play  his  last  stroke.  Petit-Claud  was 
one  of  those  profoundh'  artful  and  treacherously  double- 
faced  men,  who,  having  observed  the  changes  of  the 


332  '  Lost  Illusions. 

human  heart  and  the  strateg}'  of  self-interests,  are  never 
caught  b}-  the  promises  of  tlie  present  or  the  mere  baits 
of  an}'  alliance.  Consequently,  at  the  outset  of  this 
business  he  had  relied  ver^'  little  upon  Cointet.  In  case 
the  project  of  his  marriage  fell  through  without  his  be- 
ing able  to  accuse  the  tall  Cointet  of  treachery,  he  had 
laid  a  plan  to  vex  him  ;  but  since  his  reception  b}'  Ma- 
dame de  Senonches  as  the  suitor  of  her  ward,  Petit- 
Claud  was  playing  fairlj-  with  him.  His  secret  plot, 
now  useless,  would  be  dangerous  in  the  political  situa- 
tion to  which  he  aspired.  The  basis  on  which  he  had 
meant  to  build  his  future  importance  was  as  follows : 
Several  of  the  leading  merchants  in  Flloumeau  were 
about  to  form  a  Liberal  committee,  which  attached 
itself,  from  business  considerations,  to  the  Opposition 
part}'.  The  accession  of  the  Villele  ministry,  accepted 
by  Louis  XVIIL,  then  on  his  death-bed,  was  the  signal 
for  a  change  of  conduct  on  the  part  of  the  Opposition, 
which,  since  the  death  of  Napoleon,  had  renounced  the 
perilous  means  of  conspirac}'.  The  Liberal  party  now 
organized  in  the  provinces  a  system  of  legal  resistance ; 
it  endeavored  to  make  itself  master  of  the  electoral 
business  so  as  to  reach  its  ends  by  convincing  the 
masses.  Petit-Claud,  being  a  frantic  Liberal  and  son 
of  I'Houmeau,  was  the  promoter,  soul,  and  secret  coun- 
sellor of  the  Opposition  of  the  Lower  town  oppressed  by 
tlie  aristocracy  of  the  Upper.  He  was  the  first  to  see 
the  danger  of  leaving  to  the  Cointets  the  sole  disposal 
of  the  press  in  the  department  of  the  Charcnte,  where 
the  Opposition  ought  certainly  to  have  an  organ,  so  as 
not  to  be  behind  the  other  towns. 

"If  we  all   contribute    five   hundred   francs,"  Petit- 


Lo^t  Illusions.  333 

Claud  had  saitl,  '•  we  should  have  over  twent}'  thousand 
francs,  enough  to  buy  the  Sechard  printing-house." 

The  hiwyer  worived  secretly  for  the  adoption  of  this 
idea,  which  seems  to  explain  in  a  way  his  double  posi- 
tion towards  the  Cointets  and  David  Se'chard  ;  and  his 
cA'es  naturally  turned  to  a  rascal  of  Cerizet's  make  as  a 
man  who  could  be  bought  for  the  part}'. 

"If  you  can  unearth  your  old  master  and  give  him 
into  m}'  hands,"  he  said  to  the  former  gamin,  "some 
one  will  lend  you  twenty  thousand  francs  with  which  to 
buy  his  printing-otHce,  and  you  will  probably  be  placed 
at  the  head  of  a  newspaper.     Therefore,  go  to  work." 

Far  more  sure  of  a  man  like  Cerizet  than  he  was  of 
all  the  Doublons  in  the  world,  Petit-Claud  confidently 
assured  Cointet  that  David  would  be  arrested.  But, 
since  Petit-Claud  had  reason  to  hug  the  hope  of  enter- 
ing the  magistracy,  he  foresaw  the  necessity  of  turning 
his  back  on  the  Liberals.  B}'  this  time,  however,  he 
had  stirred  up  the  mJnds  of  I'Houmeau  so  successfully 
that  the  money  for  the  purchase  of  the  printing-house 
was  all  subscribed.  Under  these  circumstances,  Petit- 
Claud  resolved  to  let  matters  follow  their  natural  course. 

"Pooh!"  he  said  to  himself,  "Cerizet  will  soon 
commit  some  press  misdemeanor,  and  I  shall  profit  by 
that  to  show  my  talents." 

He  now  went  to  the  door  of  the  printing-room,  where 
Kolb  was  standing  sentry,  and  said  to  him,  "  Go  up  and 
tell  David  he  had  better  take  advantage  of  the  hour  to 
get  awa}',  and  to  be  ver}-  cautious  ;  I  can't  wait  any 
longer;    it  is  one  o'clock," 

When  Kolb  left  his  station  Marion  took  his  place. 
Lucien  and  David  soon  came  down ;    Kolb  preceded 


33-4  *  Los^t  Illusions. 

them  by  a  hundred  feet,  Marion  brought  up  the  rear  at 
the  same  distance.  When  the  two  brothers  reached  the 
boarding  Lucien  was  speaking  eagerl}'. 

"  M}^  dear  friend,"  he  was  saying,  "  my  plan  is  sim- 
plicity itself;  but  I  could  n't  speak  of  it  before  Eve,,  who 
can't  understand  such  means.  I  am  certain  that  Louise 
has  a  feeling  for  me  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  which  I 
know  how  to  awaken.  I  simply  want  to  avenge  myself 
on  that  imbecile  of  a  prefect.  If  I  succeed  I  shall  get 
her  to  ask  the  ministrj-  to  give  you  a  subsid}'  of  twenty 
thousand  francs  for  3'our  invention.  I  am  to  see  that 
woman  to-morrow  in  the  ver}"  boudoir  where  our  love 
for  each  other  first  began.  Petit-Claud  tells  me  it  is 
quite  unchanged.  I  mean  to  pla}'  a  comed}' !  So  the 
day  after  to-morrow  morning  I  '11  send  you  a  little  note 
b3^Basine  to  tell  you  whether  or  no  I  have  been  hissed. 
Who  knows?  perhaps  you  will  be  free  at  once.  Now 
don't  you  understand  why  I  wanted  those  clothes  from 
Paris?  You  can't  play  the  part  of  the  leading  gentle- 
man in  rags." 

At  six  in  the  morning  Cerizet  went  to  see  Petit- 
Claud. 

"  To-morrow  at  twelve  o'clock  Doublon  must  be  read}^ 
to  make  the  arrest ;  he  can  capture  him,  I  '11  answer  for 
it.  I  control  one  of  Mademoiselle  Clerget's  work-girls 
—  you  understand." 

After  listening  to  Cerizet's  plan  Petit-Claud  went  off 
to  find  Cointet. 

"  If  you  make  Monsieur  du  llautoy  decide  this  very 
evening  to  give  Franqoise  the  reversion  of  his  property 
you  sliall,  within  th(^  next  two  days,  sign  a  deed  of  [)art- 
nership  with  S^'ciiard.     I  shall  not  be  married  for  eight 


Lost  Illusions.  335 

days  after  the  contract ;  therefore,  we  shall  still  keep 
to  the  terms  of  our  little  agreement,  —  give  and  take, 
you  know.  We  must  both  watch  to-night  what  takes 
place  at  Madame  de  Senonches'  house  between  Lucien 
and  Madame  du  Chatelet,  for  it  is  all  there.  If  Lucien 
succeeds  in  persuading  the  countess,  I  hold  David." 

"You  will  certainly  be  Keeper  of  the  Seals,"  said 
Cointet. 

"  Why  not  ?  Monsieur  de  Peyronnet  is,"  replied  Petit- 
Claud,  who  had  not  quite  pulled  off  his  Liberal  skin. 


336  -    Lost  Illusions. 


IX. 

lucien's  reprisals  at  the  hotel  de  bargeton. 

The  anomalous  position  of  Mademoiselle  de  la  Haye 
was  the  reason  why  almost  all  the  nobles  of  Angouleme 
were  present  at  the  signmg  of  her  marriage  contract. 
'The  poverty  of  the  future  household,  starting  without 
the  benefits  of  a  "  corbeille/'  excited  the  sort  of  interest 
that  society  enjoys  bestowing ;  for  benevolence  is  like 
ovations,  we  love  the  forms  of  charity  which  gratif}'  our 
self-love.'^^Consequently  the  Marquise  de  Pimentel,  the 
Comtesse  du  Chatelet,  Monsieur  de  Senonches  and 
several  of  the  habitues  of  the  house  made  Fran^oise 
some  handsome  wedding-presents,  which  were  talked 
of  throughout  the  town.  These  pretty  trinkets,  added 
to  the  trousseau  which  Zephirine  had  been  preparing  for 
over  a  year,  the  jewels  given  b}'  the  godfatlier,  and  the 
customary'  formal  wedding-presents,  reconciled  Fran- 
coise  to  the  marriage,  and  piqued  the  curiosity  of  several 
mothers  who  brought  their  daughters  on  this  occnsion. 

Petit-Claud  and  Coiutct  had  already  had  occasion  to 
remark  that  the  nobles  of  Angouleme  only  tolerated 
them  in  their  Olympus  as  a  necessity  ;  one  was  the 
manager  and  legal  guardian  of  FranQoise's  fortune  ;  the 
other  was  as  indispensable  to  the  signing  of  the  con- 
tract as  the  condemned  man  is  to  an  execution.  But  if, 
on  the  morrow  of  her   marrinire,   IMadame  Petit-Claud 


Lost  Illusions.  337 

claimed  the  right  to  return  to  her  godmother's  house 
the  husband  felt  it  would  be  difficult  to  make  good  his 
footing  there,  and  he  promised  liimself  to  make  these 
proud  peoi)le  fear  him.  Blushing  for  his  humble  par- 
entage he  had  made  his  mother  staj-  in  Mansle,  where 
she  had  gone  to  live  ;  he  requested  her  to  say  she  was 
ill,  and  to  send  him  lier  consent  in  writing.  Humiliated 
to  feel  liimself  without  friends  or  protectors  or  famil}", 
in  short  with  no  one  to  sign  the  contract  on  his  behalf, 
Petit-Claud  was  onl}'  too  happ}-  to  present  himself  with 
the  poet,  the  celebrated  man,  whom  the  Comtesse  du 
Chatelet  desired  to  see  again.  He  called  for  Lucien  in 
a  carriage.  The  great  man  had  dressed  for  this  memor- 
able evening  in  a  way  that  was  certain  to  give  him  an 
indisputable  superiority  over  the  other  men.  Madame 
de  Seuonches  had  taken  care  to  announce  the  presence 
of  the  hero  of  the  moment,  and  the  meeting  of  the  es- 
tranged lovers  was  one  of  those  scenes  which  are  par- 
ticularh-  tootlisome  to  provincial  palates.  Moreover, 
Lucien  had  passed  into  the  condition  of  a  Lion ;  it  w^as 
said  he  was  so  handsome,  so  changed,  such  an  exqui- 
site, that  all  the  women  of  the  Angouleme  aristocracy 
had  a  desire  to  see  him. 

In  accordance  with  the  fasliion  of  that  period,  which 
marked  the  transition  from  the  ancient  ball  breeches 
to  the  ignoble  trousers  of  the  present  day,  Lucien  had 
put  on  a  pair  of  close-fitting  pantaloons.  Men  still"-^ 
exhibited  their  shapes,  to  the  great  despair  of  ill-made, 
skinny  beings ;  but  Lucien's  proportions  were  Apollo- 
nian. His  open-worked  gray  silk  stockings,  his  low 
shoes,  his  black  satin  waistcoat,  his  cravat,  all  were 
rCarefuUj'  put  on  ;  in  fact,  one  might  say  they  were  glued 

22 


338  '      Lost  Illusions. 

upon  him.  His  abundant  fair  hair  set  off  the  white 
forehead,  around  which  the  light  wavy  curls  were  ar- 
ranged with  studied  grace.  His  eyes,  full  of  pride, 
were  sparkling.  His  feminine  httle  hands,  handsome 
in  gloves,  ought  never  to  have  been  seen  gloveless.  He 
copied  his  demeanor  from  that  of  de  Marsay,  the  famous 
Parisian  dandy,  holding  his  cane  and  hat  (which  he 
never  laid  aside)  in  one  hand,  and  using  the  other  for  tlie 
few  gestures  with  which  he  emphasized  his  words.  Lu- 
cien  would  much  have  preferred  to  have  glided  elegantly 
into  the  salon,  like  those  celebrated  men  who,  it  is  re- 
corded, bent  their  heads  out  of  modesty  as  they  passed 
beneath  the  Porte  Saint-Denis.  But  Petit-Claud,  who 
had  but  this  one  friend,  used  and  abused  the  privilege. 
He  led  him  almost  pompouslj^  to  Madame  de  Senonches, 
who  was  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  As  they 
passed  along  the  poet  heard  murmurs  that  would  for- 
merly have  turned  his  head,  but  to  which  he  now 
listened  coldly-,  for  he  felt  that  he  could  meet  on  equal 
terms  the  whole  Olympus  of  Angouleme. 

"Madame,"  he  said  to  Madame  de  Senonches,  "I 
have  already  congratulated  m}'  friend  Petit-Claud,  who 
is  of  the  stuff  that  Keepers  of  the  Seals  are  made  of;  I 
rejoice  in  his  great  good-fortune  in  being  allied  to  you 
—  though  the  tie  between  a  godmother  and  a  god- 
daughter is  but  a  shght  one."  (This  was  said  with  an 
epigranniiatic  air  well  understood  b}'  the  women  present, 
who  were  listening,  though  the}"  affected  not  to  be.) 
"  For  my  part,  I  am  grateful  for  an  event  which  enables 
me  to  offer  you  my  homage." 

All  this  was  said  Avithout  embarrassmenc,  and  in  the 
attitude  and  manner  of  a  "grand  seigneur"  who  was 


Loiit  Illusions.  339 

paying  a  visit  among  lesser  folk.  Lncien  listened  to 
Zepliirine's  involved  answer,  casting  looks  all  the  while 
round  the  salon  to  get  his  bearings  and  prepare  effects. 
Consequently  he  was  presently  able  to  bow  with  grace, 
graduating  his  smiles,  to  Francis  du  Hauto}*  and  the 
prefect,  who  bowed  to  him  ;  then  he  moved  nearer  to 
Madame  da  Chatelet,  feigning  to  notice  her  for  the  first 
time.  This  meeting  was  so  clearly  the  event  of  the 
evening,  that  the  signing  of  the  contract  in  the  adjoining 
room,  to  which  the  notary  was  endeavoring  to  pilot  the 
principal  personages,  was  forgotten.  Lucien  made  a 
few  steps  towards  Louise  de  Negrepelisse,  and  then  he 
said  with  Parisian  grace  to  the  woman  whose  mind,  since 
his  entrance,  had  been  filled  with  recollections  :  — 

"Is  it  to  you,  madame,  that  I  owe  the  invitation 
which  procures  me  the  pleasure  of  dining  at  the 
Prefecture?  "' 

"  You  owe  it  onl}''  to  your  fame,  monsieur,"  replied 
Louise,  curtl}',  shocked  at  the  turn  of  a  sentence  in- 
tended b}-  Lucien  to  wound  the  pride  of  his  former 
patroness. 

"Ah!  madame  la  comtesse,"  he  said  with  an  air 
that  was  subtle  and  foppish  both,  "  I  shall  be  unable  to 
bring  that  guest  to  you  if  he  has  incurred  your  disap- 
proval." Then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he 
turned  aside  and,  seeing  the  bishop,  bowed  to  him  in  a 
statel}'  manner.  "  Your  Eminence  was  almost  a 
prophet,"  he  said  in  a  charming  tone  of  voice,  "  and  I 
shall  do  my  best  to  make  you  wholly  one.  I  think  my- 
self very  happ}'  to  have  come  here  this  evening,  since  it 
gives  me  the  opportunity  to  offer  you  my  respects." 

Lucien  then  led  the  prelate  into  a  conversation  which 


SttO  Lost  Illusions. 

lasted  ten  minutes.  All  the  women  looked  upon  Lucien 
as  a  phenomenon.  His  unexpected  impertinence  had 
literally  left  Madame  du  Chatelet  voiceless.  Seeing  her 
former  lover  admired  b}'  all  the  women  present,  perceiv- 
ing how  from  group  to  group  the  tale  went  round  of  the 
speech  in  which  he  had,  as  it  were,  laid  her  flat  with  an 
air  of  disdain,  Louise  was  gripped  to  the  heart  with  a 
spasm  of  vanit}'. 

"  If  he  does  not  come  to  dinner  to-morrow  after  that 
speech,  what  a  scandal  it  will  make,"  she  thought. 
"  What  is  the  meaning  of  such  pride?  Can  Mademoi- 
selle des  Touches  have  fallen  in  love  with  him  ?  He  is 
so  handsome  !  The}'  saj'  she  went  to  his  house  the  very 
day  that  actress  died  !  " 

A  myriad  of  such  thoughts  rushed  into  her  mind,  and, 
unfortunately  for  her,  she  was  looking  all  the  while  at 
Lucien,  who  stood  talking  to  the  bishop  as  though  he 
were  king  of  the  salon.  He  bowed  to  no  one,  but  simply 
waited  until  others  came  up  and  bowed  to  him,  looking 
about  him  with  a  vai-iety  of  expressions,  and  an  ease 
that  was  worth}-  of  de  Marsay,  his  model.  He  did  not 
even  leave  the  bishop  to  bow  to  Monsieur  de  Senonches 
who  appeared  at  a  little  distance. 

At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  Louise  could  bear  it  no 
longer.  She  rose,  went  up  to  the  bishop,  and  said, 
''  May  I  know,  monseigneur,  what  it  is  that  makes  you 
smile  so  often  ?  " 

Lucien  discreetl}'  drew  back  a  few  steps  to  leave  Ma- 
dame du  Chatelet  with  the  prelate. 

"Ah!  madanic  la  comtesse,  this  young  man  has 
great  intelligence  ;  lie  has  been  telling  me  that  he  owes 
all  his  real  strength  to  you." 


\ 


Lost  Illusioyis.  341 

*' And  /  am  not  ungiatefiil,  raadame,"  said  Lucien, 
with  a  reproachful  glance  at  the  countess  which  de- 
lighted her. 

"  Let  us  have  an  understanding/'  she  said,  beckoning 
Lucien  to  her  with  a  motion  of  her  fan  ;  "  come  into  this 
room  with  monseigneur,  and  he  shall  judge  between  us." 
She  pointed  to  the  boudoir,  and  took  the  bishop's  arm  to 
lead  the  way. 

*'  A  curious  business  for  Monseigneur  ! "  said  a 
woman  from  the  camp  of  the  Chandours,  loud  enough 
to  be  overheard. 

"  Our  judge  !  "  said  Lucien,  looking  first  at  Madame 
du  Chatelet  and  then  at  the  bishop.  ''  Is  either  of  us 
in  fault?  " 

Louise  de  Xegrepelisse  seated  herself  on  the  sofa  of 
her  former  boudoir.  Having  made  Lucien  sit  on  one 
side  of  her  and  the  bishop  on  the  other,  she  began  to 
speak.  Lucien  did  his  former  love  the 'honor,  the  sur- 
prise, and  the  happiness  of  not  listening  to  her. .  He 
assumed  the  attitude  and  gestures  of  Pasta  in  Tancredi 
wlien  she  is  about  to  sa}'  0  patria  !  He  produced  on 
his  face  the  famous  cavatina  del  Rizzo.  He  even  found 
means  to  force  a  few  tears  to  his  e3'es. 

"  Ah,  Louise,  how  I  loved  you  !  "  he  whispered,  with- 
out regard  to  the  bishop  or  to  what  she  was  saying,  as 
soon  as  he  saw  that  the  countess  had  seen  his  tears. 

"  Dry  your  eyes,  or  you  will  ruin  me  again/'  she  said, 
in  an  aside  which  displeased  the  bishop. 

"And  once  was  enough,  you  think!"  cried  Lucien. 
"  What  a  remark  !  it  would  dry  up  the  tears  of  a  Ma- 
deline !  Good  God  !  I  had  returned  for  an  instant  to 
my  hopes,  my  illusions,  my  twenty  years,  and  you — " 


342  Lost  Illusions. 

Here  Monseigneur  retreated  hastily  to  the  salon, 
perceiving  that  his  dignitj'  might  be  compromised  by 
these  former  lovers.  Everybody-  affected  to  leave  Lucien 
and  Madame  du  Chatelet  to  themselves.  But  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  later  Sixte,  to  whom  the  smiles  and  nods  and 
promenades  to  the  door  of  the  boudoir  were  far  from 
pleasing,  went  in  with  an  air  that  was  more  than  uneasj*, 
and  found  Lucien  and  Louise  in  very  animated  conver- 
sation. 

''Madame,"  said  Sixte,  in  his  wife's  ear,  "you  who 
know  Angouleme  even  better  than  I  do  ought  to  think 
of  your  position  as  wife  of  the  prefect." 

"  M}'  dear,"  replied  Louise,  looking  at  her  responsible 
editor  with  a  haughty  air  which  made  him  tremble,  "  I 
am  talking  with  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  on  matters  that 
are  ver}'  important  to  3'ou.  It  is  a  question  of  saving  a 
great  inventor  who  is  on  the  point  of  becoming  a  victim 
to  the  basest  machinations,  and  you  can  prevent  it.  As 
to  what  those  ladies  think  of  me,  you  shall  see  how  I 
conduct  myself  to  ice  the  venom  on  their  tongues." 

So  saying  she  left  the  boudoir,  leaning  on  Lucien's 
arm,  and  took  him  to  sign  the  contract,  parading  her 
act  with  all  the  audacity  of  a  great  lady. 

"  Let  us  sign  together,"  she  said,  offering  him  a  pen. 

Lucien  made  her  show  him  the  place  where  she  had 
just  written  her  name,  so  that  their  two  signatures  should 
be  side  by  side. 

*'  Monsieur  de  Senonches,  would  you  ever  have  recog- 
nized Monsieur  de  RubL'n4)re?''  said  the  countess,  thus 
compelling  the  insolent  huntsman  to  bow  to  Lucien. 

She  carried  Lucien  back  to  the  salon  and  placed  him 
between  herself  and  Zephirinc  on  the  formidable  sofa  in 


>  Lost  Illusions.  343 

the  middle  of  tlie  room.  Then,  a,s  if  she  were  a  queen 
on  her  throne,  she  began,  at  first  in  a  low  voice,  a  con- 
versation that  was  evidentl}-  epigrammatic,  in  which  a 
number  of  her  old  friends  and  several  women  who 
wished  to  court  her  joined.  Lucien,  who  was  the  hero 
of  the  circle,  was  prompted  by  the  countess  to  talk  of 
Parisian  life,  which  he  did  with  a  ready  satire  and  vim, 
interspersing  the  whole  with  anecdotes  of  celebrated 
persons,  veritable  tid-bits  of  conversation  for  which  all 
provincial  societies  are  greedy.  The  company  now  ad- 
mired the  wit  as  much  as  they  had  previousl}*  admired 
the  beauty  of  the  man.  Madame  la  Comtesse  Sixte 
was  so  complacent  at  Lucien's  triumph,  she  played  so 
well  the  part  of  a  woman  delighted  with  her  instrument, 
she  helped  him  so  cleverly  with  appropriate  remarks, 
and  solicited  applause  with  so  compromising  a  look  that 
several  women  began  to  suspect  collusion  in  the  simul- 
taneous return  of  the  pair. 

''Well!"  said, Louise,  about  one  in  the  morning, 
speaking  to  Lucien  in  a  low  voice  before  rising  from 
her  seat,  "  day  after  to-morrow,  remember,  and  do  me 
the  favor  to  be  punctual." 

She  then  left  him  with  a  little  motion  of  the  head 
that  was  only  too  amicable,  and' went  to  say  a  few  words 
to  Comte  Sixte,  who  immediately  looked  for  his  hat. 

''  If  what  Madame  du  Chatelet  tells  me  is  so,  my  dear 
Lucien,  you  may  count  on  me,"  said  the  prefect,  start- 
ing in  pursuit  of  his  wife,  who  was  going  away  without 
him,  as  they  do  in  Paris.  "Your  brother-in-law  may 
feel  perfectly  secure." 

"  Monsieur  le  comte  owes  me  that  much,"  replied 
Lucien,  with  a  smile. 


344  Lost  Illusions. 

"Well!  here  we  are,  knocked  in  the  head,"  said 
Cointet  to  Petit-Claud,  who  had  witnessed  the  parting. 

Petit-Claud,  thunderstruck  at  Lucien's  success,  and 
dazzled  b}'  the  sparkle  of  his  wit  and  the  eas}'  display 
of  his  graces,  looked  at  Francoise  de  la  Ha3'e,  whose 
face,  full  of  admiration  for  Lucien,  seemed  to  sa}'  to 
her  suitor:   "Why  are  not  3'ou  like  3'our  friend?" 

A  gleam  of  jo}-  passed  over  Petit-Claud's  features. 

"  The  prefect's  dinner  is  not  till  da\'  after  to-morrow," 
he  replied  to  Cointet's  remark.  "  We  have  another  day 
before  us.     I  answer  for  our  success." 

"  Well,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Lucien  to  Petit-Claud 
at  two  in  the  morning  as  the}'  went  home  on  foot.  "  I 
came,  I  saw,  I  conquered!  David  will  be  happ}'  in  a 
few  liours." 

"That's  all  I  want  to  know,"  said  Petit-Claud  to 
himself  "  I  thought  you  only  a  poet,"  he  said  aloud, 
"  but  3'ou  are  also  a  Lauzun,  — in  other  words,  twice  a 
poet,"  he  added,  giving  his  friend  a  shake  of  the  hand 
which  was  destined  to  be  the  last. 

"  M3'  dear  Eve,"  said  Lucien,  waking  up  his  sister 
when  he  got  home.  "Good  news!  In  less  than  a 
month  David  can  pa}'  his  debts." 

"How?" 

"  Well,  under  Madame  du  Chatelet's  petticoat  I  have 
found  my  former  Louise.  She  is  fonder  of  mc  than 
ever,  and  she  is  going  to  make  her  husband  send  a  re- 
port to  the  minister  of  the  interior  in  favor  of  our  dis- 
cover}'. Therefore  you  have  only  one  month  more  to 
suffer."  (Eve  thought  she  was  still  dreaming  as  she 
listened  to  her  brother.)  "  When  I  entered  the  little  gray 
salon   where  I  used  to  tremble  like  a  child  two  years 


Lost  Illusions.  345 

ago,  and  looked  at  the  furniture,  the  pictures,  and  the 
faces,  the  scales  fell  from  m}'  eyes !  How  Paris  does 
change  one's  ideas  !  " 

•'  Is  that  a  good?"  asked  Eve,  who  now  understood 
her  brother. 

'*  Come,  go  to  sleep  again,  and  to-morrow  after  break- 
fast we  '11  talk  it  over,"  said  Lucien. 

Cerizet's  plan  was  estrerael}'  simple.  Though  it  be- 
longed to  the  category  of  wiles  which  provincial  sheriffs 
employ  to  trap  their  victims,  the  success  of  which  is  often 
problematical,  it  was  fated  to  succeed,  for  it  rested  on 
an  accurate  knowledge  of  the  characters  of  Lucien  and 
David,  as  well  as  on  these  new  hopes.  Among  the 
little  workwomen  of  whom  Cerizet  was  the  Don  Juan, 
and  whom  he  governed  by  cleverly  pitting  one  against 
the  other,  was  an  ironer  in  Basine  Clerget's  laundr}-,  a 
girl  almost  as  handsome  as  Madame  Sechard,  named 
Henriette  Signol,  whose  parents  were  small  vineyard 
owners  living  on  their  little  property  about  six  miles 
from  Angouleme  on  the  road  to  Salutes.  The  Signols, 
like  all  countr3--folk  of  their  condition,  were  not  rich 
enough  to  keep  their  only  child  at  home,  and  they  in- 
tended her  to  ''enter  a  house,"  which  means  in  other 
words  to  become  a  lady's  maid.  In  the  provinces,  a 
lady's  maid  must  know  how  to  wash  and  get-up  fine 
linen.  The  reputation  of  Madame  Prieur,  whom  Basine 
succeeded,  was  such  that  the  Signols  apprenticed  their 
daughter  to  her,  paying  a  certain  sum  for  the  girl's 
board  and  lodging.  Madame  Prieur  belonged  to  the 
race  of  employers  who,  in  the  provinces,  consider 
themselves  in  the  place  of  parents.     She  lived  with  her 


346  Lost  Illusions. 

apprentices,  took  them  to  church,  and  looked  after  them 
conscientiously.  Henriette  Signol,  a  handsome  brunette 
with  a  fine  figure,  bold  e3'e,  and  strong,  dark  hair,  had 
a  dead- white  skin,  like  a  true  daughter  of  the  South,  a 
complexion  of  the  whiteness  of  a  magnolia  flower.  She 
was  one  of  the  first  grisettes  on  whom  Cerizet  cast  his 
eye;  but  as  she  belonged  to  ''honest  vine-growers" 
she  did  not  3'ield  until  vanquished  hy  jealous}',  b}'  evil 
example,  and  by  Cerizet's  promise,  "  I  will  marry  you." 
Learning  that  the  Signols  owned  a  little  vineyard  worth 
about  twelve  thousand  francs,  and  a  house  that  was  quite 
inhabitable,  Cerizet  hastened  to  make  it  impossible  that 
Henriette  should  marry  an}'  one  else.  Matters  were  in 
this  state  when  Petit-Claud  first  talked  of  making  him 
the  owner  of  the  Sechard  printing-house  and  the  pub- 
lisher of  the  Liberal  paper.  Such  a  prospect  dazzled 
the  foreman,  his  head  was  turned  ;  Mademoiselle  Signol 
seemed  to  him  an  obstacle  to  his  ambition,  and  he  neg- 
lected the  poor  girl.  Henriette  in  despair  clung  to 
him  all  the  more  because  he  was  evidently  deserting 
her.  But  when  Cerizet  suspected  that  David  was  in 
hiding  at  Mademoiselle  Clerget's,  his  ideas  as  to  Henri- 
ette changed,  though  not  his  conduct ;  he  resolved  to 
use  to  his  own  advantage  the  sort  of  madness  which 
takes  possession  of  a  poor  girl  who  hopes  to  hide  her 
shame  by  marrying  her  seducer.  During  the  morning 
of  the  da}'  when  Lucien  re-appeared  at  the  Hotel  de 
Bargeton,  Cerizet  imparted  to  Henriette  Basine's  secret, 
and  told  her  that  their  fortune  and  their  marriage  de- 
pended on  the  discover};  of  the  exact  place  where  David 
was  hiding.  Once  informed  of  this,  Henriette  had  no 
dilficulty  in  making  sure  that  the  printer  was  living  in 


Lost  Illusions.  347 

Mademoiselle  Clergct's  dressing-room.  She  saw  no 
harm  in  that  amount  of  spying.  But  Ccrizet  used  it  as 
a  first  step  toward  other  treaeher}-. 

Lucien  was  asleep  when  Cerizet,  who  came  to  Petit- 
Claud's  office  to  know  the  result  of  the  evening,  listened 
to  the  law3'er's  recital  of  the  great  little  events  which 
were  rousing  all  Angouleme. 

''  Has  Lucien  written  j'ou  anything  since  his  re- 
turn?"  asked  Cerizet,  nodding  his  head  in  sign  of  satis- 
faction at  what  Petit-Claud  told  him. 

"  Nothing  more  than  that,"  replied  the  law3'er,  hold- 
out a  letter  of  a  few  lines  which  Lucien  had  written  on 
his  sister's  note-paper. 

*'  Ver}'  good,"  said  Cerizet.  "  Tell  Doublon  to  hide 
himself  and  his  gendarmes  behind  the  Porte-Palet  ten 
minutes  before  sunset,  and  3'ou  shall  have  3-our  man." 

"  Are  3-ou  sure  of  \'Our  plan?  "  said  Petit-Claud,  eye- 
ing Cerizet  doubtfully. 

''I  trust  to  luck  —  the  hussy!  "  said  the  ex-gamin, 
"  she  's  always  against  honest  folk/' 

"You  must  succeed,"  said  the  lawyer,  sharpl}'. 

"  I  shall  succeed,"  replied  Cerizet.  "  You  who  have 
shoved  me  into  this  mudhole  had  better  give  me  a  few 
bank-bills  to  wipe  off  the  slime.  Monsieur,"  he  added, 
detecting  a  look  which  displeased  him  on  the  lawyer's 
face,  "  if  you  are  deceiving  me,  if  you  don't  buy  me 
that  printing-office  within  a  week  —  well !  you  shall 
leave  a3'oung  widow  to  mourn  your  loss  ;  "  and  the  late 
gamin  cast  a  deadly  glance  at  Petit-Claud. 

"  If  David  is  under  lock  and  kej'  at  six  o'clock  this 
evening,  come  to  Monsieur  Gannerac^s  at  nine,  and 
your  affair  shall  be  concluded,"  replied  the  lawyer. 


348  Lost  Illusions. 

"  So  be  it :  3'ou  shall  be  satisfied,  master,"  said 
Cerizet. 

Cerizct  was  an  adept  at  the  trick  of  washing  paper, 
which  in  these  da3S  threatens  such  loss  to  the  Treasurj'. 
He  washed  out  the  four  lines  written  b}-  Lucien  above 
his  signature  and  substituted  the  following,  imitating 
the  handwriting  with  a  perfection  fraught  with  danger 
for  his  social  future  :  — 

My  dear  David,  —  You  can  come  mthout  fear  to  see 
the  prefect.  Your  affair  is  settled.  Besides,  at  this  hour 
there  is  no  danger ;  I  will  meet  you  outside  to  explain  what 
you  ought  to  say  to  the  prefect. 

Your  brother, 

Lucien. 

When  Lucien  waked,  about  mid-da}',  he  wrote  to 
David  telling  him  of  the  success  of  the  evening,  and 
assuring  him  of  the  prefect's  assistance  ;  Monsieur  du 
Chatelet,  he  said,  was  to  write  a  report  to  the  minister 
that  very  day  on  David's  invention,  about  which  he  was 
veiy  enthusiastic. 

Marion  took  the  letter  to  Mademoiselle  Basine  on 
pretext  of  carrying  Lucien's  shirts  to  the  wash.  Mean- 
time Cerizet,  informed  by  Petit-Claud  that  this  letter 
would  be  sent,  contrived  to  see  Henriette.  No  doubt 
there  was  a  struggle  in  the  girl's  mind,  in  which  her  con- 
science acted  ;  but  not  only  were  the  interests  of  her 
child  at  stake,  but  her  whole  future,  her  ha[)piness,  her 
fortune ;  and,  after  all,  what  Cerizet  asked  was  a  mere 
nothing,  for  he  had  taken  good  care  not  to  tell  lier  the 
consequences.  Nevertheless  the  price  he  otfercd  for 
that  "mere  nothing"  did  startle  Henriette.  However, 
Cerizet  ended  by  persuading  the  girl  to  cany  out  his 


Lost  Illusion.^.  349 

stratagera.  At  five  o'clock  Ilonriette  was  to  toll 
Mademoiselle  Clerget  that  Madame  Scchard  wanted  her 
immediateh'.  Then,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  Basine 
had  gone  she  was  to  knock  at  the  door  of  the  dressing- 
room  and  give  the  false  letter  to  David.  After  that, 
Cerizet,  as  he  had  said,  trusted  to  luck. 

For  the  first  time  within  a  year  Eve  felt  the  iron 
bands  in  which  her  direful  necessities  had  held  her  re- 
laxing. Hope  returned  to  her  at  last.  She,  too  — 
she  wanted  to  enjoy  her  brother ;  to  be  seen  on  the  arm 
of  the  man  acclaimed  b}^  bis  townsmen,  adored  by 
women,  admired  by  the  haught\'  Comtesse  du  Chatelet. 
Eve  dressed  herself  charmingly  and  proposed,  after 
dinner,  to  walk  to  Beaulien  on  her  brother's  arm.  At 
that  hour  in  September  all  Angouleme  appears  on  the 
Promenade. 

"There's  the  beautiful  Madame  Sechard,"  said 
several  voices  when  Eve  appeared. 

"  I  never  should  have  believed  it  of  her,'' said  one 
woman. 

"The  husband  hides,  but  the  wife  exhibits  herself,'' 
said  Madame  Postel,  loud  enough  for  the  poor  woman 
to  hear. 

"  Oh  !  let  us  go  home  ;  I  have  done  wrong,"  said  Eve 
to  her  brother. 

It  was  just  before  sunset,  and  the  noise  of  a  crowd 
coming  up  the  steps  which  lead  from  I'Houmeau  was 
heard.  Lucien  and  his  sister,  feeling  some  curiosity, 
turned  in  that  direction,  for  the}-  heard  several  persons 
who  had  come  up  from  I'Houmeau  talking  among  them- 
selves as  if  a  crime  had  been  committed. 


350  Lost  Illusions. 

"It  is  probabl}'  some  thief  i\ic\  have  arrested  —  the 
man  is  as  pale  as  death,"  said  a  passer  to  the  brother 
and  sister,  seeing  them  follow  the  increasing  crowd. 

Neither  Lucien  nor  his  sister  felt  the  slightest  appre- 
hension. The}'  looked  at  the  thirty  or  more  children 
and  the  old  women  and  workmen  returning  from  their 
work  who  preceded  the  gendarmes,  the  silver  lace  of 
whose  hats  shone  bright!}'  in  the  principal  group.  That 
group,  which  was  followed  by  a  crowd  of  about  a  hun- 
dred persons,  advanced  rapidly  like  a  thunder-cloud. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Eve,  "  it  is  my  husband  !  " 

"  David  !  '*  exclaimed  Lucien. 

"  That 's  his  wife  !  "  said  the  crowd,  making  way  for 
her. 

"  What  induced  you  to  come  out?"  asked  Lucien. 

"  Your  letter,"  replied  David,  white  and  livid. 

"  I  was  sure  of  it !  "  said  Eve,  fainting  dead  awa}'. 

Lucien  raised  his  sister,  and  two  persons  helped  him 
to  carrj'  her  home,  where  Marion  put  her  to  bed.  Kolb 
rushed  for  the  doctor.  When  the  latter  came  Eve  was 
still  unconscious.  Lucien  was  forced  to  admit  to  his 
mother  that  he  was  the  cause  of  David's  arrest  — 
although  he  did  not  know  of  the  substitution  of  the  false 
letter.  Annihilated  bv  his  mother's  look,  which  was 
almost  a  curse,  he  went  up  to  his  room  and  locked  him- 
self in. 


Lout  Illusions.  351 


X. 


A   SUPREME    FAREWELL,  FOLLOWED   BY   A    LECTURE    ON 
HISTORY    AND    ANOTHER    ON    MORALITY. 

The  following  letter,  written  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  interru[)ted  by  man}'  pauses,  will  show  b}'  its 
sentences,  flung  out  as  it  were  one  by  one,  the  agitation 
of  Lucien's  mind  :  — 

My  Beloved  Sister,  —  We  have  seen  each  other  for  the 
last  time.  My  resolution  is  beyond  recall.  This  is  why  :  In 
many  families  there  is  a  fatal  being  who  is  to  his  family  a 
disease.  I  am  that  being  to  you.  This  assertion  is  not  mine, 
it  is  that  of  a  man  who  has  seeu  much  of  the  world.  He 
and  I  were  supping  one  night  with  friends  at  the  Rocher  de 
Cancale.  Among  other  jests  and  tales  that  we  all  exchanged, 
this  diplomatist  told  us  that  a  certain  young  girl,  whom  so- 
ciety was  surprised  to  see  unmarried,  was  ill  of  her  father. 
On  that  he  developed  his  theory  of  family  diseases.  He 
explained  how,  without  such  a  mother,  such  a  family  would 
have  prospered;  how  such  a  son  had  ruined  his  father  ;  how 
such  a  father  had  ruined  the  future  and  the  respectability  of 
his  children.  Though  he  propounded  all  this  with  a  laugh, 
he  supported  his  social  theory  by  so  many  facts  that  I  was 
greatly  struck  by  it.  This  truth  was  worth  all  the  foolish 
paradoxes  cleverly  maintained  with  which  journalists  amuse 
themselves  when  there  is  no  one  by  to  impose  upon.  Well, 
I  am  that  fatal  bein£:  in  our  familv.     With  a  heart  full  of 


352  Lost  lUusio)ift. 

tenderness  I  act  as  your  enemy.  I  return  your  devotion  by 
injuries.  This  last  blow,  though  involuntary,  is  the  cruelest 
of  all.  While  I  was  leading  in  Paris  an  unworthy  life,  full 
of  pleasures,  and  of  misery,  mistaking  comrades  for  friends, 
letting  true  friends  go  for  the  sake  of  men  whose  object  was  to 
use  me,  neglecting  you,  and  only  thinking  of  my  family  when 
the  time  came  to  injure  it  —  while  this  was  my  life  you  were 
following  the  humble  path  of  toil,  painfully  but  surely  lead- 
ing to  that  fortune  which  I  was  trying  to  snatch.  AVhile  you 
were  growing  better  I  was  growing  worse  ;  I  was  putting 
into  my  life  a  fatal  element.  Yes,  my  ambitions  are  bound- 
less ;  they  will  forever  hinder  me  from  accepting  a  humble 
life.  I  have  tastes,  I  have  had  pleasures,  the  recollection  of 
which  will  always  poison  the  enjoyments  now  within  my 
reach,  which  would  formerly  have  satisfied  me. 

Oh  !  my  dear  Eve,  I  judge  myself  more  severely  than  any 
one  can  judge  me,  no  matter  who  ;  for  I  condemn  myself 
absolutely  and  without  self-pity.  The  strnggle  of  life  in 
Paris  exacts  incessant  strength,  and  my  will  works  only  spas- 
modically ;  my  brain  is  intermittent.  The  future  terrifies 
me  so  much  that  I  will  not  have  a  future,  and  the  present  is 
unbearable.  I  came  here  wishing  to  see  you  again,  but  I 
had  better  have  left  my  country  forever.  And  yet,  expatria- 
tion without  the  means  of  living  would  be  folly ;  no,  I  will 
not  add  that  folly  to  all  the  rest.  Death  is  preferable  to  an 
aborted  life ;  for  in  any  situation  in  which  I  might  find  my- 
self I  know  that  my  excessive  vanity  will  force  me  to  commit 
mistakes.  Some  beings  are  like  naughts  ;  they  need  a  figure  to 
precede  them,  and  then  their  nothingness  becomes  of  tenfold 
value.  I  cannot  acquire  value  except  by  marriage  with  a 
strong,  unyielding  will.  Madame  de  Bargeton  might  have 
been  my  wife  ;  I  lost  my  future  by  not  abandoning  Coralie 
for  her.  David  and  you  might  have  been  my  pilots ;  but 
neither  of  you  was  strong  enough  to  master  my  weakness, 
which  evades,  as  it  were,  all  rule.  I  love  an  easy  life,  with- 
out annoyance ;  and  to  escape  opposition  I  can  be  guilty  of 


Lost  Illusions.  363 

nieaimesses  whicli  have  terrible  results.  I  was  born  a 
prince.  I  have  more  dexterity  of  mind  than  I  need  for 
success,  but  it  only  conies  to  me  by  fits  and  starts ;  and  tlie 
prizes  of  a  career  thi'onged  by  ambitious  rivals  are  won  by 
him  only  who  husbands  his  powers  and  so  has  strength  to 
reach  an  end. 

It  is  my  fate  to  do  evil,  as  I  have  done  it  here,  with  the 
best  intentions  in  the  world.  There  are  men  of  oak  ;  I  am, 
perhaps,  but  a  graceful  shrub,  and  I  have  tried  to  be  a  cedar. 
Tliere  you  have  my  summary  written  down.  This  discre- 
pancy between  my  means  and  my  desires,  this  lack  of  equilib- 
rium will  forever  neutralize  all  my  efforts.  There  are  many 
such  natures  among  men  of  letters,  the  result  of  a  perpetual 
disproportion  between  the  intellect  and  the  character,  the 
will  and  the  desire.  What  w^ould  be  my  fate  ?  I  can  fore- 
see it  by  remembering  many  men  who  once  were  famous  and 
are  now  submerged  and  forgotten  jn  Paris.  If  I  reached  the 
threshold  of  old  age  I  should  be  older  than  my  years,  with- 
out fortune,  without  dignity.  My  whole  being  repels  the 
thought  of  such  an  end.     I  will  not  be  a  social  ruin. 

Dear  sister,  adored  for  your  late  severity  as  much  as  for 
your  former  tenderness,  though  we  have  all  paid  dear  for  the 
happiness  I  have  had  in  seeing  you  and  David  once  again, 
later,  perhaps,  you  will  think  that  no  price  was  too  high  for 
the  last  greetings  of  a  poor  heart  that  loved  you.  INIake  no 
search,  either  for  me  or  to  know  my  fate  ;  my  will  will  at 
least  be  strong  enough  to  execute  my  desire.  Resignation, 
dear  angel,  is  a  daily  suicide.  I  have  only  resignation 
enough  for  one  day,  and  I  shall  profit  by  it. 

Two  o'clock. 

Yes,  I  am  resolved.     Farew^ell  forever,  my  dear  Eve.     I 

find  some  comfort  in  thinking   that  henceforth  I  shall  live 

only  in  your  hearts.     There  is  my  gi-ave.     I  ask  no  other. 

Farewell,  again ! 

Your  brother, 

LUCIEN. 

23 


354  Lost  Illusions. 

Having  written  this  letter  Lucien  went  downstairs 
without  making  any  noise  and  laid  it  on  his  nephew's 
cradle  ;  he  looked  at  his  sleeping  sister  with  tears  in  his 
eyes  and  left  the  room.  The  dawn  was  breaking ;  lie 
put  out  his  candle,  and  gazed  about  him  at  the  old  house 
for  the  last  time.  Then  he  opened  the  door  leading  to 
the  alley  very  softly  ;  but  in  spite  of  his  precautions  he 
woke  Kolb,  who  slept  on  a  mattress  on  the  floor  of  the 
press-room. 

"  Who  is  there?"  cried  Kolb. 

"  I,"  said  Lucien.     "  I  am  going  awa}',  Kolb." 

"  You  had  better  never  have  come,"  growled  Kolb  to 
himself,  but  loud  enough  for  Lucien  to  hear. 

"  I  had  better  never  have  come  into  the  world,"  said 
Lucien.  "  Good-bye,  Kolb,  I  don't  blame  3'ou  for  think- 
ing what  I  think  myself.  Tell  David  that  m}'  last  regret 
is  that  I  could  not  press  his  hand  once  more." 

By  the  time  Kolb  was  up  and  dressed  Lucien  was  on 
his  way  to  the  river  b}"  the  Beaulieu  promenade,  dressed 
as  if  for  a  ball ;  he  had  chosen  for  his  shroud  his  Paris- 
ian clothes  and  his  foppish  trappings.  Struck  with  the 
tone  of  Lucien's  last  words  Kolb  thought  he  would  go 
and  ask  his  mistress  if  she  knew  her  brother  had  gone, 
and  whether  he  bad  said  good-b^-e  to  her ;  but  finding 
the  house  all  quiet  he  concluded  this  departure  was 
agreed  on  the  night  before,  and  he  lay  down  again. 

Very  little  has  been  written  about  suicide,  if  we  con- 
sider the  gravit}'  of  the  subject ;  it  has  not  been  studied. 
Perhaps  this  disease  cannot  be  sufiiciently  observed. 
Suicide  results  from  a  sentiment  which  we  will  call,  if 
3'ou  please,  the  esteem  of  self  in  order  tliat  we  may  not 
confound  it  with  the  word  honor.    The  da}'  when  a  man 


Lo%t  Illusiom.  355 

If    „l,pn  he  sees   himself  despised  by 
despises  h.mself,   .   e     he    ee  ^.^^^  ^.^ 

r^'%:e  Ui"ls  H^s"    U;  clot  Uon.,e  in  tUatway  to 

'"'     '      u  ore    nee  of  which  he  will  not  remain  when 
sockets ,  in  pesence  ^^.^  ^    ^^^^^^      ^.^  ^^^^^, 

irvnav  b  sa  niong  atheists  (for  exception  n.ust 
7  TJZ  Christian's  suicide)  none  but  cowards 
:;":  p  a  Jisbolred  Ufe.  Suicide  is  of  tjiree  kinds  -. 
;'t  the  suicide  which  is  only  the  climax  of  a  long  - 
fi.st,  tnes  jijerefore.  to  pathology;  next,  the 

:::re"'fdC'^-;y,  thesuicideof  reason     Li.^^ 
T  ^  tn  kill  himself  from  despair  and  reason  both- 

fo  th^  only  irrevocal^le  suicide  is  the  pathological ; 
r„  The  three  causes  are  combined,  as  in  the  case  of 

•'TlS^'riler  taken  his  resolution  than  he 

f?^Soi=---::ra:-dS:: 

had  noS  not  far  from  a  m,U,  one  of  those  round 
"is  such  as  are  often  found  in  small  water-courses, 
C teldepth  of  which  ,s  shown  by  their  tranqud  sur- 
face The  water  of  such  pools  is  ne.ther  green,  nor 
Sue,  nor  yellow,  nor  transparent;  it  is  like  a  pohshed 


356  Lout  Illusions. 

steel  mirror.  On  the  shores  of  this  mere  were  neither 
iris,  nor  reeds,  nor  even  the  broad  leaves  of  the  water- 
lily  ;  the  grass  on  its  banks  was  short  and  close,  the 
willows  wept  as  they  grouped  picturesquely  around  it. 
It  was  a  little  gulf  brimming  with  water.  "Whoever 
had  the  courage  to  fill  his  pockets  with  stones  and 
spring  into  that  pool  would  find  an  inevitable  death  and 
never  return  to  the  surface.  "There's  a  spot,"  thought 
the  poet,  as  he  admired  the  peaceful  scene,  ''  which 
might  make  one  in  love  with  drowning." 

The  recollection  of  the  place  came  to  him  as  he 
reached  I'Houmeau.  He  walked  on  therefore  to  Mar- 
sac,  his  mind  full  of  his  last  funereal  thoughts,  with  the 
firm  intention  of  concealing  thus  the  secret  of  his  death 
and  escaping  an  inquest  and  a  funeral,  but,  above  all, 
an  exhibition  of  his  bod}'  in  the  horrible  state  of 
drowned  persons  when  they  come  to  the  surface  of  the 
water.  He  soon  reached  the  foot  of  a  hill,  of  which 
there  are  many  between  Angouleme  and  Poitiers.  The 
diligence  from  Bordeaux  to  Paris  was  overtaking  him 
rapidly,  and  the  ])assengers  would  no  doubt  get  out  of 
the  coach  to  mount  the  long  hill  on  foot.  Lucien,  who 
did  not  wish  to  be  seen,  stepped  aside  into  a  little  path 
below  the  road  and  began  to  gather  flowers  ni  a  vine- 
yard. When  he  returned  he  had  a  large  bunch  of  sedum 
in  his  hand  (a  yellow  flower,  found  on  the  stony  soil  of 
vineyards),  and  as  he  issued  upon  the  high-road  he 
found  himself  exactly  behind  a  traveller  dressed  in 
black,  with  powdered  iiair,  wearing  shoes  of  Orleans 
leather  with  silver  buckles,  —  brown  of  face  and  scarred 
as  though  he  had  fallen  into  the  fire  in  his  childhood. 
This  traveller,  whose  appearance  was  evidently  ecclesi- 


Lost  Illusions.  357 

astical.  was  walking  slowly  and  smoking  a  cigar.  Hear- 
ing Lucien  as  the  latter  jumped  from  the  vine3'ard  to 
trie  road  he  turned  round,  was  apparently'  struck  by  the 
melancholy  beauty  of  the  poet,  his  symbolic  bouquet,  and 
tne  extraordinary  elegance  of  his  attire.  At  that  mo- 
ment the  traveller  resembled  a  huntsman  who  sees  the 
game  he  has  long  and  fruitlessh'  stalked.  He  allowed 
Lucien  to  overtake  him  and  watched  his  step,  though 
he  seemed  to  be  looking  at  something  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  Lucien  turned  and  looked  there,  too,  and  then 
observed  a  little  travelling-carriage  drawn  by  two  horses, 
the  postilion  walking  beside  them. 

*'  You  have  allowed  the  diligence  to  outstrip  3-ou, 
monsieur  ;  jou  will  lose  your  place  —  unless  indeed  3'ou 
will  accept  a  seat  in  my  carriage  to  overtake  it ;  for 
post-horses  go  faster  than  those  of  a  public  convey- 
ance," said  the  traveller,  speaking  with  a  strongly 
marked  Spanish  accent,  and  giving  to  his  offer  a  tone 
of  exquisite  politeness. 

Without  waiting  for  Lucien's  reply  the  Spaniard  drew 
a  case  of  cigars  from  his  pocket,  and  offered  it  open  to 
the  young  man  that  he  might  take  one. 

''  I  am  not  a  traveller,"  said  Lucien,  "  and  I  am  too 
near  the  end  of  m}'  wa\'  to  allow  myself  to  smoke." 

''You  are  very  rigid  with  yourself,"  said  the  Span- 
iard. "  Though  I  am  the  honorary  canon  of  the  cathe- 
dral of  Toledo,  I  allow  myself,  now  and  then,  a  bit  of 
a  cigar.  God  gave  us  tobacco  to  soothe  our  passions 
and  our  sorrows.  Y"ou  seem  to  be  in  trouble  ;  at  an}' 
rate  3'ou  have  the  emblem  of  it  in  your  hand,  like  the 
sad  god  Hymen.  Come,  take  a  cigar ;  all  3-our  griefs 
will  end  in  smoke." 


358  Lost  Illusions, 

The  priest  again  offered  his  straw  case  in  a  seductive 
manner,  looking  at  Lucien  with  benevolent  eyes. 

"Pardon  me,  father,"  replied  Lucien,  shortly,  ''no 
cigars  can  relieve  m}-  grief." 

So  saying,  his  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Ah!  young  man;  was  it  Divine  providence  which 
made  me  wish  to  mount  this  hill  on  foot  that  I  might, 
by  consoling  3'ou,  obey  m}"  mission  here  below  ?  What 
great  griefs  can  you  have  at  your  age?" 

"  Your  consolations,  father,  will  be  useless ;  3'ou  are 
Spanish,  I  am  a  Frenchman  ;  3'ou  believe  in  the  com- 
mandments of  the  Church,  I  am  an  atheist  —  " 

'"'/Santa  Virgen  del  Pilar!  you  are  an  atheist!" 
cried  the  priest,  passing  his  arm  through  that  of  Lucien 
with  an  almost  maternal  tenderness.  "  Ah  !  here  is  one 
of  the  curiosities  I  am  going  to  Paris  to  studj-.  In 
Spain  we  do  not  believe  there  is  such  a  thing  as  an 
atheist.  It  is  only  in  France,  and  at  nineteen  years  of 
age,  that  a  man  can  hold  such  opinions." 

"  I  am  an  utter  atheist.  I  believe  neither  in  God  nor 
in  society,  nor  in  happiness.  Look  at  me  well,  father, 
for  in  a  few  hours  I  shall  cease  to  exist.  This  is  my 
last  sun  !  "  said  Lucien,  with  a  sort  of  solemnity,  point- 
ing to  the  sky. 

"Ah,  ha!  and  what  have  3'ou  done  that  requires 
death?  who  has  condemned  3'ou  to  die?" 

"  A  sovereign  judge  —  myself." 

"  Child  !  "  cried  the  priest,  "  have  you  killed  a  man 
—  is  the  scaffold  before  you?  Let  us  argue  this  matter. 
If  you  wish  to  return,  as  you  sa3'  you  do,  to  nothing- 
ness, all  is  indiirerent  to  you  here  below."  Lucien  bowed 
his  head  in  token  of  assent.     "  Well,  then,  if  vou  are 


Lost  Illusions.  359 

indifferent  you  can  tell  me  what  the  trouble  is.  Love 
affairs,  perhaps,  which  have  gone  amiss?"  Lucien 
made  a  very  significant  gesture  with  his  shoulders. 
"  You  want  to  kill  yourself  to  escape  dishonor,  or  be- 
cause 3"0u  despair  of  life?  Well,  you  can  kill  j'ourself 
just  as  well  at  Poitiers  as  3'ou  can  at  Angouleme,  at 
Tours  as  well  as  at  Poitiers  —  the  quicksands  of  the 
Loire  don't  give  up  their  prey  — " 

"No,  ftither,"  replied  Lucien,  "  I  have  made  my  plan. 
Three  weeks  ago  I  saw  a  charming  raft  on  which  a 
man  disgusted  with  this  world  can  ferry  himself  to 
another.'' 

"  Another  world?  then  you  are  not  an  atheist?" 

"Oh!  what  I  mean  by  another  world  is  my  future 
transformation  into  an  animal  or  a  plant.'* 

"  Have  you  any  incurable  disease?  " 

"Yes,  father." 

"  Ah  ;  now  we  come  to  it !  "  said  the  priest.  "  "What 
is  your  disease  ?  " 

"  Poverty/' 

The  priest  looked  at  Lucien  and  said,  with  infinite 
grace  and  a  smile  that  was  almost  ironical,  "The 
diamond  is  ignorant  of  its  value." 

"None  but  a  priest  could  flatter  a  poor  man  who  is 
about  to  die  !  "  cried  Lucien. 

"  You  will  not  die,"  said  the  priest,  with  authority. 

"  I  have  often  hoard  of  men  being  robbed  on  the 
high-road,"  returned  Lucien,  ••  but  I  never  knew  of  their 
being  enriched." 

"  You  will  know  of  it,"  said  the  priest,  looking  back 
to  see  if  the  carriage  was  still  at  such  a  distance  that 
thev  mii2fht  walk  a  little  farther  alone.    "  Listen  to  me," 


360  Lost  Illusions. 

he  said,  biting  off  the  end  of  a  cigar,  "  your  poverty  is 
not  a  reason  for  dying.  I  want  a  secretar3\  Mine  has 
lateh'  died  at  Barcelona.  I  am  in  the  position  of  Baron 
Goertz,  the  famous  minister  of  Charles  XII.  who  ar- 
rived without  a  secretary  at  a  little  town  on  his  wa}'  to 
Sweden,  just  as  I  have  come  here  on  m}'  wa}'  to  Paris. 
The  baron  met  the  son  of  a  jeweller,  remarkable  for  a 
beauty  that  was  certainlj'  not  greater  than  3'ours. 
Goertz  saw  intellect  on  the  3'oung  man's  face,  just  as  I 
see  poes}'  in  3'ours ;  he  took  him  into  his  carriage,  as  I 
shall  presently  take  3^ou  into  mine,  and  out  of  that 
3'outb,  condemned  to  burnish  silver  and  manufacture 
trinkets,  he  made  a  favorite  follower,  as  I  shall  make 
3'ou  mine.  When  the3"  reached  Stockholm  he  inducted 
his  secretar3'  into  office  and  overwhelmed  him  with 
work.  The  young  man  spent  his  nights  in  writing,  and, 
like  all  great  workers,  he  contracted  a  habit,  a  trick  — 
he  chewed  paper.  The  late  Monsieur  de  Malesherbes 
himself  puffed  smoke  into  the  e3'es  of  those  he  talked 
with,  and  he  did  it,  I  ma3'  add,  to  one  whose  support 
he  depended  on.  Well,  our  handsome  3'oung  man  be- 
gan b3'  chewing  clean  paper ;  but  he  soon  grew  accus- 
tomed to  that  and  took  to  written  sheets,  which  he  found 
more  toothsome.  The3-  did  n't  smoke  in  those  days  as 
they  do  now.  The  little  secretar3^  finall3'  passed  from 
one  savory  morsel  to  another  until  he  chewed  parch- 
ments and  swallowed  them.  There  was  a  question  at 
that  time  between  Russia  and  Sweden  of  a  treat3'  of 
peace  which  the  Parliament  was  desirous  of  imposing 
on  Charles  XII.  just  as  in  1814  they  tried  to  force 
Napoleon  to  make  peace.  The  basis  of  the  negotia- 
tions was  an  agreement  made  between  the  two  powers 


Lost  Illusions,  361 

on  the  subject  of  Finland.  Goertz  confided  the  original 
document  of  this  agreement  to  the  care  of  his  secretar}- ; 
but  when  it  was  necessar}'  to  submit  it  to  Parha- 
ment  a  trifling  difficult}-  arose  —  the  document  was 
nowhere  to  be  found.  Parliament  imagined  that  the 
minister,  to  pander  to  the  passions  of  the  king  had 
caused  the  disappearance  of  the  paper ;  Baron  Goertz 
was  accused,  and  his  secretary  was  compelled  to  ac- 
knowledge having  eaten  the  treat}'.  A  trial  was  had, 
the  fact  was  proved,  and  the  secretarj-  condemned  to 
death.  But,  as  you  have  not  got  as  far  as  that,  take  a 
cigar  while  we  wait  for  the  carriage  to  overtake  us." 

Lucien  took  a  cigar  and  lighted  it,  as  they  do  in 
Spain,  by  that  of  the  priest,  thinking  to  himself:  ''  He 
is  right ;  I  have  time  enough  to  kill  myself.'' 

"It  often  happens,  said  the  Spaniard,  "that  the 
very  moment  when  young  men  despair  the  most  of  their 
future  is  the  one  when  their  prosperit}'  begins.  That  is 
what  I  want  to  show  you,  and  I  prefer  to  show  it  b}-  an 
example.  That  handsome  young  secretary,  condemned 
to  death,  was  in  a  desperate  condition  ;  all  the  more  be- 
cause the  King  of  Sweden  could  not  pardon  him.  for 
the  sentence  had  been  pronounced  by  the  Swedish  Par- 
liament ;  but  the  king  shut  his  ej'es  to  an  escape.  The 
little  secretar\'  did  escape  in  a  boat,  with  a  few  thalers 
in  his  pocket,  and  reached  the  Court  of  Courlande,  fur- 
nished with  a  letter  of  introduction  from  Baron  Goertz 
to  the  duke,  to  whom  the  Swedish  minister  explained 
the  mishap  and  also  the  mania  of  his  protege.  The 
duke  made  the  youth  secretary  to  his  steward.  The 
duke  was  a  spendthrift,  he  had  a  pretty  wife,  and  he 
kept  a  steward,  —  three  distinct  causes  of  ruin.     If  you 


362  Lost  Illusions. 

suppose  that  the  young  man  thus  condemned  to  death 
for  eating  up  the  Treaty  of  Finland  corrected  his  de- 
praA^ed  taste  you  know  nothing  of  the  power  of  vice 
over  a  man ;  a  sentence  of  death  won't  stop  him  from 
any  enjoyment  which  he  creates  for  himself.  What  is 
the  secret  of  this  power  ?  whence  comes  it  ?  is  it  a  force 
inherent  in  vice,  or  is  it  the  outcome  of  human  weak- 
ness ?  Are  there  tastes  which  must  be  considered  on 
the  verge  of  madness?  I  cannot  help  laughing  at 
moralists  who  tr}^  to  fight  such  diseases  with  fine 
phrases !  There  came  a  time  when  the  duke,  alarmed 
at  a  refusal  given  b}'  his  steward  to  a  demand  for 
money,  asked  to  see  the  accounts  —  absurdit}' !  There  is 
nothing  easier  than  to  write  out  an  account ;  the  diffi- 
culty is  never  there !  The  steward  gave  his  secretary 
the  items  and  instructed  him  to  make  out  the  schedule 
of  the  civil  list  of  Courlande.  In  the  middle  of  the 
night,  as  the  secretary  was  about  to  finish  his  work,  he 
perceived  that  he  was  munching  up  a  receipt  from  the 
duke  for  a  considerable  sum  ;  fear  seized  upon  him  ; 
he  ran  to  fling  himself  at  the  feet  of  the  duchess,  ex- 
plained his  mania,  implored  the  protection  of  his 
sovereign  lady,  —  imploring  it  too,  in  the  dead  of 
night.  The  beauty  of  the  young  clerk  made  such  an 
impression  on  her  that  she  married  him  soon  after  on 
becoming  a  widow.  Thus,  in  the  middle  of  the^ 
eighteenth  centurj',  in  a  land  where  heraldr\'  is  king, 
the  son  of  a  jeweller  became  a  sovereign  prince.  He  be- 
came something  better  still !  He  was  made  regent  oji 
the  deatli  of  the  first  Catherine,  he  governed  the  Em- 
press Anne,  and  he  tried  to  be  the  Richelieu  of  Russia. 
Now,  young  man,  let  me  tell  you  one  thing :  you  are 


Lost  Illusions.  363 

handsomer  than  Biron,  and  I,  a  simple  canon,  am  worth 
more  than  Buron  Goertz.  Therefore,  jump  into  the 
carriage  and  we  '11  find  j-ou  a  Duch}'  of  Courlande  in 
Paris  —  if  there  is  no  duchy  there  is  certain  to  be  a 
duchess." 

The  Spaniard  slipped  his  hand  under  Lucien's  arm 
and  literally  forced  him  to  get  into  the  vehicle  ;  the 
postilion  closed  the  door. 

'•Now  speak;  I  will  listen  to  you,"  said  the  canon 
of  Toledo  to  the  bewildered  Lucien.  ''I  am  an  old 
priest  to  whom  you  can  say  anything  without  the  slight- 
est danger.  You  have  no  doubt  squandered  3-our  patri- 
mony or  mamma's  money?  We  have  had  our  little 
escapades,  but  our  honor  is  intact  down  to  the  soles  of 
those  prett}'  little  boots  ?  Come,  confess  boldl}' ;  it  will 
be  absoluteh'  as  though  3'ou  were  speaking  to  yourself." 

Lucien  found  himself  in  the  position  of  the  fisher- 
man in  the  Arabian  tale  (I  forget  which)  who,  wishing 
to  drown  himself  in  the  broad  ocean,  fell  into  a  sub- 
marine country  and  there  became  a  king.  The  Spanish 
priest  seemed  so  truly  interested  that  the  poet  opened 
his  heart  to  him.  He  told  him  his  whole  life  as  they 
drove  from  Angouleme  to  Ruffec.  omitting  none  of  his 
misdeeds,  and  concluding  with  the  last  catastrophe  of 
which  he  was  the  cause.  As  he  ended  his  tale,  which 
was  all  the  more  poeticall}'  told  because  Lucien  had 
alread}'  narrated  it  three  times  in  the  course  of  the  last 
fortnight,  the  carriage  reached  a  part  of  the  road  near 
Ruffec  which  bordered  the  estate  of  the  Rastignacs. 

"There!"  he  said,  "Eugene  de  Rastignac,  who  is 
certainl}'  not  my  equal,  came  from  there ;  and  he  has 
had  more  luck  than  I  have." 


364  Lost  Illusions, 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  Spaniard,  with  a  start. 

*'  Yes,  that  queer  little  building  is  his  father's  house. 
He  became  the  lover  of  Madame  de  Nucingen,  wife  of 
the  famous  banker.  I  gave  myself  up  to  poes}' ;  he, 
shrewder  than  I,  took  to  the  practical." 

The  priest  stopped  the  carriage  ;  he  wished,  out  of  curi- 
osit}',  he  said,  to  walk  up  the  little  avenue  which  led 
to  the  house  ;  and  he  looked  at  everything  with  more 
interest  than  Lucien  expected  in  a  Spanish  ecclesiastic. 

*■'  Then  3'ou  know  the  Rastignacs?  "  said  Lucien. 

"I  know  all  Paris/'  said  the  Spaniard,  getting  into 
the  carriage.  "And  so  for  the  want  of  ten  or  twelve 
thousand  francs  3'ou  were  going  to  kill  3ourself !  You 
are  a  child  ;  3^ou  know  neither  men  nor  things.  A  man's 
destin3'  is  what  he  rates  it,  and  you  value  your  future  at 
twelve  thousand  francs  ;  well,  I  '11  buv  it  of  you  for 
more  than  that.  As  to  the  imprisonment  of  your 
brother-in-law,  that 's  a  mere  trifle.  If  your  dear  Mon- 
sieur Sechard  has  reall3^  invented  something  he  '11  be  a 
rich  man.  Rich  men  are  never  put  in  prison  for  debt. 
You  don't  seem  to  me  ver3'  strong  in  histor3'.  There 
are  two  kinds  of  histor3' :  official  histor3',  lying  history, 
that  which  the3'  teach  in  colleges,  —  histor3^  ad  usum 
deliJhini ;  and  secret  histor3%  in  which  are  the  true 
causes  of  events,  —  shameful  histor3'.  Allow  me  to  tell 
3'ou  in  three  words  another  little  story  which  3'OU  do  not 
know.  An  ambitious  man,  a  priest  and  a  young  one, 
made  himself  the  spaniel  of  a  favorite,  the  favorite  of  a 
queen.  Tlie  favorite  took  an  interest  in  the  i)iiest  and 
made  him  a  minister  with  a  place  in  the  council.  On  a 
certain  evening  one  of  those  officious  men  who  think 
they  are  doing  a  service  (remember  never  to  do  a  ser- 


Lost  Illusions.  365 

vice  unless  it  is  asked  of  3-011)  wrote  to  the  ambitious 
young  priest  to  tell  him  that  the  life  of  his  benefactor 
"was  in  danger.  The  king  was  angry  at  being  super- 
seded, and  the  next  da}'  the  favorite  was  to  be  stabbed 
as  he  went  to  the  palace.  Well,  young  man,  what 
would  you  have  done  on  receiving  that  letter?" 

'^  I  should  have  warned  my  benefactor  instantly," 
cried  Lucien,  eagerlv. 

*'  You  are  even  more  of  a  child  than  your  account  of 
your  life  told  me,"  said  the  priest.  "No,  he  said  to 
himself,  '  If  the  king  has  resolved  on  crime  nothing  will 
stop  him  ;  my  benefactor  is  a  lost  man.  I  had  better 
not  receive  that  letter  till  too  late  ; '  and  he  turned  over 
and  went  to  sleep  until  the  favorite  was  killed." 

"Then  he  was  a  monster,"  said  Lucien,  who  sus- 
pected the  priest  of  wishing  to  test  him. 

"All  great  men  are  monsters;  that  particular  one 
was  called  Cardinal  Eichelieu,"  replied  the  canon  ;  "  his 
benefactor  was  Marshal  d'Ancre.  You  see  that  you 
really  do  not  know  your  French  history.  Was  I  not 
right  in  saying  that  History,  as  taught  in  schools  and 
colleges,  is  a  collection  of  dates  and  facts,  doubtful  in 
an}'  case,  and  without  the  sHghtest  signification  as  to 
actual  conditions.  What  is  the  good  of  merely  knowing 
that  Joan  of  Arc  existed?  Did  it  ever  lead  you  to  think 
that  if  France  had  then  accepted  the  Angevine  dynasty 
of  the  Plantagenets  the  two  peoples  thus  united  would 
to-day  be  masters  of  the  world  ;  and  that  the  two  islands 
where  the  political  troubles  of  the  continent  of  Europe 
are  brewed  would  be  French  provinces  ?  Did  you  never 
study  the  means  by  which  the  Medici,  simple  merchants, 
came  to  be  grand  dukes  of  Tuscany  ?  " 


366  Lost  Illusions. 

"  lu  France  a  poet  is  not  expected  to  be  as  learned 
as  a  Benedictine,"  said  Lucien. 

''Then  I  will  tell  3'ou,  young  man;  the}"  became 
grand  dukes  precisely  as  Richelieu  became  minister.  If 
you  had  searched  into  the  history  of  events  instead  of 
merely  reading  the  headings,  you  would  have  found  pre- 
cepts by  which  to  guide  your  conduct.  From  these, 
which  I  have  taken  at  random  from  my  collection  of  true 
facts,  you  may  deduce  this  axiom  :  Regard  men,  above  all 
regard  women,  as  instruments  onl}' ;  but  never  let  them 
see  that  3'ou  do  so.  Adore  as  a  god  the  man  who,  being 
higher  in  station  than  yourself,  may  be  useful  to  you  ; 
and  do  not  leave  him  till  he  has  paid  a  full  price  for 
your  servilit}'.  In  your  dealings  with  the  world  be  as 
grasping  as  a  Jew,  and  as  base  ;  do  for  power  that  which 
the  Jew  does  for  pelf.  Pay  no  more  heed  to  a  fallen 
man  than  if  he  did  not  exist.  Do  you  know  why  you 
should  guide  3'our  conduct  in  this  way?  You  wish  to 
master  the  world,  don't  you  ?  Very  good ;  then  begin 
by  obeying  it  and  studying  it.  Learned  men  study 
books  ;  statesmen  study  men,  their  interests,  the  gener- 
ating causes  of  their  actions.  Now  the  world,  societ}-, 
men  taken  as  a  whole,  are  fatalists ;  they  await  what 
happens.  Do  you  know  wh}'  I  have  given  you  a  lecture 
on  history?  Because  I  think  your  ambition  is  un- 
bounded." 

"Yes,  it  is,  father." 

"I  see  it  is,"  resumed  the  canon.  "  But  just  at 
this  moment  you  are  saying  to  yourself,  '  This  Spanish 
priest  invents  these  anecdotes  and  twists  histor}'  to 
prove  to  me  that  I  have  too  much  virtue.'  "  (Lucien 
smiled  at  seeing  his  thoughts  so  well  translated.)   "  Well, 


Lost  Illusions.  3G7 

young  man  ;  let  us  take  certain  facts  that  are  the  tritest 
ones  of  history.  Once  upon  a  time  France  was  almost 
conquered  by  England ;  the  king  had  only  one  province 
left.  From  the  heart  of  the  people  arose  two  beings ; 
one  a  poor  young  girl,  that  Joan  of  Arc  of  whom  I  have 
spoken  ;  tiie  other  a  burgher  named  Jacques  Coeur.  One 
gave  her  arm  and  the  spell  of  her  virginit}',  the  other 
gave  his  gold.  The  kingdom  was  saved.  But  the  maid 
was  captured.  The  king,  who  could  have  ransomed 
her,  allowed  her  to  be  burned  alive.  As  to  the  gener- 
ous burgher,  the  king  permitted  his  courtiers  to  accuse 
him  of  capital  crimes ;  the}''  divided  his  property  among 
them.  The  spoils  of  that  innocent  man,  hunted,  hemmed 
in,  hounded  down  bj*  justice,  enriched  five  noble  houses 
—  and  the  father  of  the  archbishop  of  Bourges  left  the 
kingdom,  never  to  return,  without  one  penny  of  all  his 
property  in  France,  and  no  money  but  a  little  that  he 
had  lent  to  the  Arabs.  Perhaps  you  will  say  that  that 
is  ancient  history,  and  that  all  this  ingratitude  has  been 
dul}'  taught  in  the  public  schools  for  three  hundred 
years,  and  besides,  that  the  skeletons  of  that  period  are 
doubtful.  Well  then,  3'oung  man,  do  you  believe  in  the 
last  demigod  of  France,  Napoleon  ?  He  regarded  one 
of  his  generals  with  displeasure ;  he  onl}'  made  him 
marshal  against  his  will ;  and  he  never  voluntarily  em- 
ployed him.  That  was  Marshal  Kellerman.  Do  you 
know  why  this  was?  Kellerman  saved  France  and  the 
First  Consul  at  Marengo  by  a  daring  charge  which  won 
applause  in  the  midst  of  the  fire  and  carnage.  That 
heroic  deed  was  never  even  mentioned  in  the  bulletin. 
The  cause  of  Napoleon's  coldness  to  Kellerman  was 
also  the  cause  of  Fouche's  disgrace  and  that  of  Prince 


368  Lost  Illusions. 

Talleyrand,  —  ingratitude,  the  ingratitude  of  Charles 
VII.,  of  Richelieu  !  " 

"  But,  father,  supposing  it  possible  that  you  should 
preserve  my  life  and  secure  m^^  fortune,"  said  Lucien, 
"  do  you  not  make  the  burden  of  gratitude  a  very  light 
one?" 

'*  Little  scamp !  "  said  the  abbe,  smiling,  and  twist- 
ing Lucien's  ear  with  a  familiarit}'  that  was  almost 
royal.  ''  If  you  are  ungrateful  to  me  you  will  prove 
yourself  a  strong  man,  and  I  will  bow  down  to  3'ou. 
But  3'ou  have  not  got  so  far  as  that !  though,  schoolboy 
that  3'OU  are,  3'Ou  have  attempted  to  be  a  master  before 
3"0ur  time.  That 's  the  defect  of  the  Frenchmen  of  your 
da3^  They  have  all  been  spoilt  hy  the  example  of  Na- 
poleon. You  are  sending  in  your  resignation  because 
you  have  n't  got  the  epaulet  that  you  want.  But  have 
3'OU  as  3'et  concentrated  3'our  will  and  all  3'our  actions 
on  one  idea  ?  " 

''  Alas,  no,"  said  Lucien. 

"  You  have  been  what  the  English  call  ^  inconsist- 
ent,' "  said  the  abbe,  smiling. 

*'  What  matters  it  what  I  have  been  if  I  am  to  be 
nothing  more?"  answered  Lucien. 

"  If  there  be  a  force  behind  your  fine  qualities  of 
person  and  mind  that  is  semper  vire?is,^'  said  the  priest, 
apparentl3'  desirous  of  airing  his  Latin,  "  nothing  can 
resist  3'ou.  I  like  3'Ou  already  —  "  (Lucien  smiled  in- 
credulousl3'.)  ''Yes,"  continued  the  priest,  replying  to 
Lucien's  smile,  "  3'ou  excite  m3'  interest  as  thocigh  you 
were  mj''  son,  and  I  am  sufBcientlv  powerful  to  speak  to 
you  frankly,  as  3'ou  have  just  spoken  to  mc.  Do  30U 
know  what  it  is  that  I  like  in  you?     You  have  made 


Lout  Illusions.  369 

yourself  a  blank  page,  and  you  can  now  listen  to  a  lec- 
ture on  morality  such  as  you  camiot  hear  elsewhere ; 
for  men,  when  assembled  together,  are  even  more  hypo- 
critical than  when  their  interests  force  them  to  play  a 
part.  We  pass  the  latter  part  of  our  lives  in  mowing 
down  what  we  grew  in  our  hearts  when  young.  AVe 
call  that  operation  '  acquiring  experience.' " 

Lucien,  as  he  listened,  was  thinking  to  himself:  "He 
is  an  old  politician  who  is  glad  to  find  amusement  on 
his  journev.  He  thinks  it  entertaining  to  change  the 
opinions  of  a  poor  fellow  he  finds  on  the  brink  of  sui- 
cide ;  he  '11  drop  me  when  he  has  had  his  fun  out.  But 
he  certainh'  is  a  master  of  paradox ;  as  clever  at  it  as 
Blondet  or  Lousteau." 

In  spite  of  this  sage  reflection,  the  corruption  now 
poured  into  Lucien's  ears  entered  deeply  into  a  soul 
that  was  only  too  ready  to  receive  it ;  making  its  rav- 
ages with  the  greater  certainty  because  it  was  enforced 
by  great  examples.  Caught  by  the  charm  of  this  cyni- 
cal conversation,  Lucien  once  more  attached  himself  to 
life,  and  all  the  more  willingl}'  because  he  felt  that  the 
arm  which  was  dragging  him  from  suicide  was  a  power- 
ful one. 

As  for  that,  the  priest  had  evidently  triumphed  ;  and, 
from  time  to  time  he  accompanied  his  historical  sar- 
casms with  a  sh*  smile. 

"  If  3'our  method  of  treating  morality  is  like  your 
manner  of  considering  history,"  said  Lucien,  "  I  should 
really  like  to  know  wliat  is,  at  this  moment,  the  motive 
of  your  apparent  charity  ?  " 

"  That,  young  man,  is  the  last  point  of  my  discourse, 
and  you  must  permit  me  to  reserve  it  for  a  time  —  for 

24 


370  Lost  Illusions. 

we  shall  not  part  to-da}-,"  he  repUecl,  with  the  shrewd- 
ness of  a  priest  who  sees  his  wiles  succeeding. 

"  Well,  then,  propound  to  me  moralit}-,"  said  Lucien, 
thinking  to  himself:  "  That  will  make  him  pose." 

"Moralit}',  3'oung  man,"  said  the  priest,  ''  begins  at 
the  law.  If  it  were  merely  a  question  of  religion  laws 
would  be  useless ;  religious  nations  have  few  laws. 
Above  civil  law  is  political  law.  Well,  then,  do  you 
wish  to  know  what,  to  the  e3'e  of  a  politician,  is  written 
on  the  forehead  of  your  nineteenth  century?  French- 
men invented  m  1793  a  popular  sovereignt}'  which  has 
ended  in  a  despotic  empire.  So  much  for  your  national 
histor}'.  As  to  morals  :  Madame  Tallien  and  Madame 
de  Beauharnais  were  precisely  the  same  in  conduct.  Na- 
poleon married  one  and  made  her  3'our  empress, 
and  he  never  received  the  other  at  his  court,  although 
she  was  a  princess.  A  sans-culotte  in  1793,  Napoleon 
donned  the  iron  crown  in  1804.  The  ferocious  lovers 
of  '  Equalit^^  or  Death,'  in  1792  became  in  1806  the 
accomplices  of  an  aristocrac}^  which  Louis  XVIII.  legit- 
imatized. In  foreign  lands  the  aristocracy  which  now 
lords  it  in  the  faubourg  Saint-Germain  did  even  worse ; 
it  drove  the  trade  of  usurers,  shopkeepers,  made  pies, 
cooked,  farmed,  and  kept  sheep.  In  France,  therefore, 
political  law  as  well  as  moral  law,  each  and  all,  have 
forsworn  their  promise  by  their  results,  their  opinions 
b}'  their  conduct,  or  their  conduct  b}-  opinions.  There 
has  been  no  logic  either  in  governments  or  in  private 
life.  Consequently',  France  now  has  no  morality.  Suc- 
cess is  the  sole  motive  of  all  3'our  actions,  no  matter 
what  thej'  be.  An  act  is  no  longer  anything  in  itself,  it 
is  wholl3'  in  the  idea  that  others  ma3'  form  of  it.    Hence, 


Lost  Illusions.  371 

young  man,  another  precept :  Present  a  fine  exterior ; 
hide  the  inside  of  your  life,  and  make  a  brilliant  show 
of  3'our  externals.  Discretion,  that  motto  of  ambitious 
minds,  is  that  of  my  cloth  —  make  it  30urs.  Great  men 
commit  almost  as  man}'  vile  acts  as  poor  men.  but  the}' 
commit  them  in  the  dark,  they  parade  their  virtues  in 
the  sunshine,  and  remain  great  men.  Small  men  dis- 
play tlieir  virtue  in  the  dark  and  expose  their  baseness 
to  the  light  of  day,  and  are  despised.  You  have  hidden 
your  greatness,  and  exhibited  jour  sores.  You  took  an 
actress  for  j'our  mistress  and  lived  with  her,  in  her 
house  publicly.  That  was  not  reprehensible,  for  you 
were,  both  of  3'ou,  absoluteh'  free  ;  but  you  ran  a  tilt 
against  the  ideas  of  the  world,  and  you  lost  the  respect 
which  the  w^orld  gives  onlv  to  those  who  obey  its  laws. 
If  you  had  left  Coralie  with  that  old  man,  if  you  had 
hidden  your  relations  to  her.  you  could  have  married 
Madame  de  Bargeton.  and  you  would  now  be  prefect 
of  Angouleme  and  Marquis  de  Rubempre.  Alter  your 
conduct ;  exhibit  only  your  beauty,  your  grace,  your 
wit,  your  poesy.  If  you  allow  yourself  a  few  little 
ignominies  keep  them  within  four  walls.  Follow  this 
precept  and  you  will  never  again  be  guilty  of  soiling 
the  decorations  of  that  great  theatre  which  we  name 
the  world.  Napoleon  called  that  '  washing  our  dirty 
linen  at  home,'  From  this,  my  second  precept,  issues 
a  corollary :  All  depends  on  form.  Understand  what 
I  mean  b}-  form.  There  are  uneducated  persons  who, 
being  pressed  by  want,  take  something  by  violence 
which  belongs  to  another.  These  are  called  criminals, 
and  they  are  forced  to  reckon  with  the  law.  But  a  poor 
man  of  genius  discovers  a  secret,  the  application  of 


372  Lost  Illusions. 

which  is  equivalent  to  enormous  wealth  ;  he  owes  yow 
three  thousand  francs  (just  the  sum  the  Cointets  hold  of 
3'ours  and  which  enables  them  to  despoil  3'our  brother- 
in-law)  ;  \o\x  torment  that  poor  man  with  the  law  until 
you  make  him  give  3'ou  the  whole  or  part  of  his  secret ; 
tliere  is  nothing  to  hinder  3'ou  but  3'our  conscience,  and 
3'our  conscience  doesn't  accuse  3'ou  of  anything.  The 
enemies  of  social  order  make  use  of  such  inconsis- 
tencies to  yelp  at  justice  and  rail  in  the  name  of  the 
People  because  the  law  sends  the  man  who  steals 
chickens  at  night  to  the  galle3's,  while  other  men  who 
ruin  families  escape  (if  punished  at  all)  with  a  few 
weeks  in  prison.  But  these  hypocrites  know  very  well 
that  in  condemning  the  thief  the  judges  maintained  the 
barrier  between  the  poor  and  the  rich,  the  overturning 
of  which  would  put  an  end  to  social  order ;  whereas  the 
bankrupt,  the  adroit  purloiner  of  inheritances,  the 
banker  who  throttles  another  man's  enterprise  to  his 
own  profit,  are  onl3^  making  mone3'  change  hands. 
Society,  my  son,  is  forced  to  distinguish,  on  its  own 
account  that  which  I  am  telling  3'ou  to  distinguish  on 
yours.  The  great  point  is  to  put  one's  self  on  the  level 
of  the  societ3'  we  live  in.  Napoleon,  Kichelieu,  the 
Medici,  were  all  on  the  level  of  their  age  ;  and  you,  3'Ou 
rate  yourself  at  twelve  thousand  francs !  Remember 
that  your  world  no  longer  worships  the  true  God,  but 
the  Golden  Calf.  That  is  the  religion  of  your  Charter, 
which  takes  account  in  its  policy  of  nothing  but  prop- 
ert3'.  Isn't  that  as  good  as  saying  to  all  its  subjects  : 
*  Strive  to  get  rich'?  When  you  have  mannged  to 
make  a  fortune  legally,  and  are  JNIarquis  de  Rubempre, 
you  can  allow  yourself  the  luxury  of  honor.     You   will 


Lost  Illusions.  373 

then  exhibit  such  delicacy  in  that  respect  that  no  one 
will  dare  to  accuse  you  of  having  ever  failed  in  it ;  if 
indeed  you  ever  do  fail  in  it  wliile  making  your  fortune 
—  which  I  should  never  advise  you  to  do,"  said  the 
priest,  taking  Lucien's  hand  and  tapping  it.  "  Now 
what  is  it  you  ought  to  get  into  that  handsome  head  of 
yours  ?  Solely  this  :  Set  before  you  a  splendid  object ; 
hide  your  jneans  of  reaching  it,  and  also  your  steps. 
You  have  been  behaving  like  a  child  ;  be  a  man,  be  a 
huntsman,  watch  the  game,  lui-k  in  Parisian  society, 
trust  to  chance,  and  seize  your  pre}'  when  it  comes 
along ;  never  spare  either  your  person  or  what  is 
called  your  dignity,  —  for  we  all  obe}-  something,  be  it  a 
vice  or  a  necessity,  —  but  remember  to  observe  the 
supreme  rule,  secrecy." 

'*  You  frighten  me,  father!"  cried  Lucien ;  ''that 
seems  to  me  the  theor}'  of  a  highwayman." 

"You  are  right,"  said  the  canon,  "but  it  is  not 
mine.  That  is  the  reasoning  of  the  moderns,  the  House 
of  Austria  and  the  House  of  France.  You  have  noth- 
ing ;  3'ou  are  in  the  situation  of  the  Medici,  of  Richelieu, 
and  Napoleon  at  the  dawn  of  their  ambition.  Those 
men,  my  lad,  estimated  their  future  at  the  cost  of  in- 
gratitude, treachery,  and  the  most  violent  oppositions. 
AVe  must  dare  all  to  win  all.  Let  us  argue  that.  'When 
you  sit  down  to  play  bouillotte,  do  you  dispute  the  con- 
ditions ?    No,  the  rules  are  there,  and  j'ou  accept  them." 

"  So  !  "  thought  Lucien,  "he  knows  bouillotte  !  " 

"  How  do  you  behave  when  3'ou  are  playing  bouil- 
lotte?" continued  the  priest.  "Do  3-ou  practise  that 
noblest  of  virtues,  frankness  ?  You  not  only  hide  3'our 
own  game,  but  you  try  to  make  others  believe  that  you 


374  Lost  Illusions. 

are  certain  to  lose  it,  when  3'ou  know  3-011  are  going  to 
win.  You  dissimulate,  don't  you?  You  lie  to  win  five 
louis.  What  would  you  sa}'  of  a  player  who  was  gener- 
ous enough  to  tell  the  others  he  had  three  cards  of  a 
suit?  Well,  the  ambitious  man  who  attempts  the 
struggle  of  life  on  the  principles  of  virtue  which  his 
antagonists  have  long  laid  aside  is  a  child,  to  whom 
veterans  would  say,  as  the  players  would  to  the  man  who 
laid  down  his  three  cards,  '  Monsieur,  don't  play  bouil- 
lotte  again.'  Is  it  you  who  make  the  rules  in  the  game 
of  ambition?  Wliy  did  I  tell  you  that  a  man  must  put 
himself  on  the  level  of  the  world  he  lives  in  ?  Because, 
young  man,  societ}'  has  insensibl}'  arrogated  to  itself  so 
man^^  rights  over  individuals  that  an  individual  stand- 
ing alone  would  have  to  fight  it  single-handed.  There 
are  no  longer  any  laws,  only  what  are  called  customs  ; 
that  is  to  sa}'  conventions,  pretences,  form,  form  —  alwa3's 
form."  (Lucien  made  a  gesture  of  amazement.)  "  Ah,  my 
son,'.'  said  the  priest,  fearing  perhaps  to  have  revolted 
Lucien's  innocence,  ''you  must  not  expect  to  find  the 
Angel  Gabriel  in  an  abbe  who  is  charged  witli  all  the 
iniquities  of  the  counter-diplomacy  of  two  great  kings 
(I  am  the  intermediary  between  Ferdinand  VII.  and 
Louis  XVIII.,  two  great  kings,  who  both  owe  their 
crowns  to  profound  and  far-reaching  compromises)  !  I 
believe  in  God,  but  I  believe  far  more  in  our  Order,  and 
our  Order  believes  in  nothing  but  the  temporal  power. 
To  make  the  temporal  power  strong,  our  Order  main- 
tains the  Catliolic,  Apostolic,  and  Roman  Church  ;  that 
is  to  sa3^,  the  embodiment  of  the  sentiments  which  com- 
pel the  people  to  obedience.  We  are  modern  Templars  ; 
we  have  but  one  doctrine.     Our  Order  was  overthrown 


Lost  Illusions.  375 

like  theirs,  and  for  the  same  reason  —  it  put  itself  on 
the  level  of  the  times.  If  you  will  be  a  soldier,  I  will  be 
your  captain.  Obe}'  me  as  a  wife  obeys  her  husband, 
as  a  child  obeys  its  mother,  and  I  will  guarantee  you 
that  in  less  than  three  3ears  you  shall  be  Marquis  de 
Kubempre,  and  the  husband  of  one  of  the  proudest 
daughters  of  Saint-Germain,  and  3'ou  shall  sit  at  some 
future  day  on  the  bench  of  Peers.  If  I  had  not  amused  you 
by  my  conversation  what  would  you  be  at  this  moment? 
A  corpse  sunk  in  a  bed  of  slime.  Come,  make  an  effort 
at  poesy ;  I  '11  give  3'ou  a  theme  (Lucien  looked  at  his 
deliverer  with  curiosity).  Take  the  young  man  who  is 
seated  here  in  this  carriage  beside  the  Abbe  Don  Carlos 
Herrera,  honorary  canon  of  the  Chapter  of  Toledo, 
secret  envoy  from  His  Majesty  Ferdinand  YII.  to  His 
Majesty  the  King  of  France,  and  bearer  of  a  despatch 
in  which  may  be  the  words :  ^  AVhen  3'ou  have  delivered 
me,  hang  all  those  I  flatter  at  this  moment ;  especially 
mv  envoy  who  takes  this  letter,  so  that  he  ma3'  keep  it 
a  dead  secret.'  This  young  man,''  continued  the  abbe, 
"  has  nothing  in  common  with  the  poet  who  has  just 
died.  I  fished  you  out ;  I  gave  3'ou  life  ;  you  belong  to 
me  as  a  creature  does  to  the  Creator,  as  the  Afrite  to 
the  genii,  as  the  page  to  the  sultan,  the  body  to  the  soul. 
I  will  sustain  you,  —  I,  myself,  with  a  powerful  hand,  — 
in  the  path  of  power;  and  I  promise  3^ou  besides  a  life 
of  pleasures,  honors,  and  continual  enjo3'ment.  Never 
shall  3'ou  lack  mone3\  You  shall  shine,  3'OU  shall  dis- 
play 3-ourself  before  the  e3'es  of  the  world,  while  I,  toil- 
ing in  the  mud  of  the  foundations,  will  secure  the 
brilliant  edifice  of  3'our  fortune.  I  love  power  for 
power's  sakf:  myself;    I  shall  alwa3's  rejoice  in  your 


376  Lost  Illusions. 

enjoyments  though  to  me  the}'  are  forbidden.  In  short 
1  shall  be  3'ou.  Well,  if  the  da}-  comes  on  which  this 
compact  of  man  and  devil,  child  and  diplomatist,  ceases 
to  please  you,  3'Ou  shall  be  free  to  find  a  pretty  spot  like 
that  you  spoke  of,  and  drown  yourself;  you  would  then 
be,  a  little  more  or  a  little  less,  what  3-ou  are  to-day  — 
unfortunate  or  dishonored." 

"That  is  not  the  homil}"  of  an  archbishop  of  Gran- 
ada," cried  Lucien,  as  the  carriage  stopped  at  a 
post-house. 

"  I  don't  know  what  name  you  ma}'  choose  to  give  to 
that  concise  lesson,  my  son,  —  for  I  adopt  you  as  my  son 
and  will  make  you  my  heir,  —  but  it  is  the  Code  of  Ambi- 
tion. The  elect  of  God  are  few  in  number.  There  is 
no  choice  ;  we  must  either  go  to  the  depths  of  a  cloister 
(and  there  we  shall  find  the  world  in  little),  or  accept 
this  code." 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  not  to  be  so  learned," 
said  Lucien,  endeavoring  to  fathom  the  soul  of  this 
terrible  priest. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  the  canon  ;  "  after  playing  3'our 
cards  without  any  knowledge  of  the  rules  of  the  game, 
do  you  throw  them  down  wdien  3'Ou  are  becoming  skilled 
and  find  a  strong  backer  behind  3'Ou?  Are  you  without 
so  much  as  a  desire  for  revenge?  Don't  you  long  to 
leap  upon  the  backs  of  those  who  drove  you  from 
Paris?" 

Lucien  shuddered  as  if  some  iron  instrument,  some 
Chinese  gong,  had  clanged  its  terrible  sounds  in  his  ears 
and  rasped  his  nerves. 

"  I  am  but  a  humble  priest,"  continued  the  man,  per- 
mitting a  horrible  expression  to  cross  his  face,  bronzed 


Lost  111  us  tons.  377 

by  the  sun  of  Spain;  "but  if  I  had  been  humiliated, 
vexed,  tortured,  betrayed,  sold,  as  you  have  been  by 
those  scoundrels  you  spoke  of,  I  would  be  like  the 
Bedouin  of  the  desert  —  yes,  I  would  devote  myself 
soul  and  body  to  revenge.  Would  I  care  if  I  ended  m}' 
days  b}'  swinging  from  a  gibbet,  or  impaled,  or  guillo- 
tined, as  in  France?  No!  but  they  should  not  take  my 
head  till  I  had  crushed  my  enemies  underfoot." 

Lucien  was  silent ;  he  no  longer  thought  of  making 
the  priest  pose. 

"  Some  men  are  the  descendants  of  Abel,  some  of 
Cain,"  said  the  canon,  in  conclusion.  "  I  myself  am  of 
mixed  blood,  —  Abel  to  m}^  friends,  and  sorrow  to  him 
who  awakens  Cain.  After  all,  you  are  a  Frenchman,  I 
am  a  Spaniard,  and,  what  is  more,  a  canon  —  " 

"A  Bedouin  indeed!"  thought  Lucien,  examining 
the  protector  whom  heaven  had  sent  him. 

The  Abb3  Carlos  Herrera  bore  no  signs  in  himself 
which  revealed  the  Jesuit,  nor,  indeed,  a  priest  of  any 
order.  Stout  and  short,  with  large  hands,  a  broad  chest 
herculean  in  strength,  a  terrible  glance,  softened  at  will 
into  gentleness,  a  bronzed  skin  which  suffered  nothing 
to  pass  from  the  inner  to  the  outer,  he  inspired  at  once 
far  more  repulsion  than  attraction.  Very  fine  long  hair, 
powdered  after  the  fashion  of  that  of  Talleyrand,  gave 
the  look  of  a  prelate  to  this  singular  diplomatist,  and 
the  blue  ribbon  edged  with  white  by  which  hung  a  cross 
of  gold  pointed  him  out,  unmistakabl}',  as  an  ecclesias- 
tical dignitary.  His  black  silk  stockings  defined  the 
legs  of  an  athlete.  His  clothes,  of  an  exquisite  nicet}', 
revealed  that  minute  care  of  the  person  which  ordinary 
priests,  esxDecially  in  Spain,  are  not  prone  to  take.      A 


378  Lo^  Illusions. 

three-cornered  hat  was  lying  on  the  front  seat  of  the 
carriage,  the  panels  of  which  bore  the  arms  of  Spain. 
In  spite  of  certain  causes  for  repulsion,  the  manners 
of  the  man,  which  were  brusque  and  3'et  insinuating,  les- 
sened the  unpleasant  effect  of  his  physiognomy,  and  in 
speaking  to  Lucien  the  priest  had  made  himself  caress- 
ing, winning,  almost  feline. 

Lucien  watched  and  considered  everything  with  an 
anxious  air.  He  felt  his  decision  was  at  that  moment 
a  matter  of  life  or  death,  for  they  had  now  reached  the 
second  rela}'  after  Ruffec.  The  last  words  of  the  Spanish 
priest  stirred  many  of  the  chords  of  his  heart ;  and,  let 
us  say  it  to  Lucien's  shame  and  that  of  the  priest,  who 
watched  with  a  discerning  eye  the  handsome  features 
of  the  poet,  these  chords  were  among  the  worst  that 
vibrate  in  the  human  soul.  Again  Lucien  beheld  Paris, 
once  more  he  seized  the  reins  of  a  power  his  unskilled 
hands  had  dropped,  and  he  avenged  himself!  The  com- 
parison of  provincial  life  with  Parisian  life  which  his 
stay  at  Angouleme  had  afforded  him  and  which  was 
perhaps  the  most  active  cause  of  his  suicide,  disap- 
peared from  his  mind ;  he  was  about  to  find  himself 
once  more  in  his  natural  element,  but  protected,  this 
time,  by  a  powerful  backer,  the  villany  of  whose  prin- 
ciples equalled  that  of  Cromwell. 

"  I  was  one,  we  shall  be  two,"  Lucien  said  to  liim- 
self.  The  more  he  had  revealed  the  disgrace  of  his 
former  life,  the  more  the  priest  had  shown  liis  interest. 
The  charity  of  the  man  had  increased  in  proportion 
to  his  unha[)i)iness  ;  he  seemed  sur})rised  by  notliing. 
Nevertheless, *l>ueien  asked  himself  what  could  be  the 
motive  of  this  manager  of  court  intrii:;ues.     At  fir.st  he 


Lost  Illusions.  379 

was  contented  with  a  commonplace  reason  ;  the  Span- 
ish were  a  generous  people  !  A  Spaniard  is  generous, 
we  ma}'  remark,  just  as  an  Italian  is  jealous  and  a 
poisoner,  a  Frenchman  frivolous,  a  German  frank,  an 
Englishman  noble,  a  Jew  ignoble.  Reverse  those  prop- 
ositions and  you  get  at  the  truth.  Jews  accumulate 
money,  they  compose  "  Robert  le  Diable,"  they  act 
"  Phedre,"'  the}-  sing  "  Guillaume  Tell,"'  they  buy  pic- 
tures, they  build  palaces,  they  write  the  "  Reisebilder" 
and  other  admirable  poetry,  they  are  now  more  power- 
ful than  ever,  their  religion  is  conceded  to  them,  they 
even  do  business  with  the  Pope.  Germans  will  say  in 
the  smallest  matter:  "  We  must  have  a  contract,  there 
is  so  much  trickery."  In  France  we  have  applauded  for 
the  last  fifty  years  the  dullest  national  plays,  we  con- 
tinue to  wear  inexplicable  hats,  and  we  change  the  gov- 
ernment from  time  to  time  on  condition  that  it  shall 
be  always  the  same  !  England  displays  to  the  eyes  of 
the  world  a  treachery  equalled  only  by  her  greed.  The 
Spaniard  after  possessing  all  the  gold  of  the  two  Indies 
has  nothing  left.  There  is  not  a  country  in  the  world 
where  there  is  less  poisoning  than  in  Italy,  and  where 
the  manners  and  customs  are  easier  and  more  courteous. 
Spaniards  have  really  existed  on  the  reputation  of  the 
Moors.     So  much  for  proverbial  sayings ! 

AYhen  the  Spanish  priest  returned  to  the  carriage  he 
whispered  to  the  postilion  :  "  A  large  fee  for  your  best 
speed." 

Lucien  hesitated  ;  the  priest  said:  "  Come,"  and  he 
got  in,  under  pretext  in  his  own  mind  of  pursuing  the 
argument  ad  hominem. 

''Father,"   he  said,  '•  a  man  who  has  just  unfolded 


380  Lost  Illusions. 

with  the  utmost  coohiess  doctrines  which  ordinary 
minds  would  call  profoundly  immoral  — " 

"  And  which  are  so,"  said  the  priest.  "  That  is  why 
Jesus  Christ  said  that  offences  must  be  made  known. 
And  it  is  also  why  the  world  manifests  such  horror  at 
the  making  known  of  scandals." 

"  A  man  of  your  stamp  cannot  be  surprised  at  the 
question  I  wish  to  put  to  you." 

"  Go  on,  my  son,"  said  Carlos  Herrera.  "  You  do 
not  know  me.  Do  you  suppose  I  should  take  a  secre- 
tar}'  without  discovering  whether  his  principles  are  such 
that  he  would  not  rob  me  ?  I  am  satisfied  with  what  I 
see  of  you.  You  still  have  all  the  innocence  of  a  man 
who  kills  himself  at  the  age  of  twent}'.  Go  on  ;  your 
question  ?  " 

*' Why  do  you  take  an  interest  in  me?  What  price 
do  you  demand  for  my  obedience?  Why  do  you  give 
me  all?     What  are  your  motives?" 

The  Spaniard  looked  at  Lucien  and  smiled. 

"Let  us  wait  for  the  next  hill,  and  walk  up/'  he  said ; 
''  then  we  can  talk  in  the  open  air  ;  a  travelling-carriage 
is  sometimes  indiscreet." 

Silence  reigned  for  some  time  between  the  two  com- 
panions ;  the  rapidity  with  which  the  carriage  was  driven 
aided  what  we  must  call  Lucien's  moral  intoxication. 

"  Father,  here  is  a  hill,"  he  said  after  a  time,  as  if 
waking  from  a  dream. 

"  Then  let  us  walk,"  said  the  priest,  calling  out  to 
the  postilion  in  a  strong  voice  to  pull  up. 

The  two  men  sprang  out  upon  the  road. 

*'  Child,"  said  the  Spaniard,  taking  Lucicu  by  the 
arm,  "  have  you  ever  meditated  over  Otway's  '  Venice 


i 


Lost  Illusions.  381 

Preserved'?  Do  you  undcistancl  the  profound  friend- 
ship of  man  to  man,  whicli  binds  Pierre  to  Jaffier, 
makes  woman  of  no  account,  and  changes  all  social 
terms?     Well,  that  is  what  the  poet  tells  us." 

"  He  knows  the  stage,  too  !  "  thought  Lucien.  "Have 
you  read  Voltaire  ?  "  he  asked  aloud. 

"I  have  done  better  still,"  replied  the  canon  j  "I 
have  put  him  in  practice." 

"  You  don't  believe  in  God?  " 

"Ha!  now  it  is  1  who  am  the  atheist!"  said  the 
priest,  laughing.  ''  But  let  us  get  to  the  practical,  my 
young  friend,"  lie  continued.  "lam  forty -six  3'ears 
old, —  the  natural  son  of  a  great  seigneur,  consequently 
without  family  ;  and  1  have  a  heart.  Now,  learn  this  ; 
carve  it  on  that  soft  brain  of  yours  :  man  has  a  horror  of 
solitude.  And  of  all  solitudes,  moral  solitude  is  that 
which  terrifies  him  most.  The  first  hermits  lived  with 
God  ;  they  inhabited  the  most  populous  of  worlds, —  the 
spiritual  world.  Misers  inhabit  a  world  of  fancy  and 
possession ;  a  miser  has  all,  even  his  sex,  in  his  brain. 
The  first  desire  of  man,  be  he  a  leper  or  a  gallej'-slave, 
infamous  or  diseased,  is  to  have  a  sharer  in  his  fate. 
To  satisfy  that  desire,  which  is  existence  itself  to  him, 
he  employs  his  whole  strength,  his  every  faculty,  the 
very  sap  of  his  life.  Without  that  sovereign  need  would 
Satan  have  found  companions?  A  whole  poem  might 
be  made  on  that  theme,  a  prelude  to  Paradise  Lost, 
which  is  only  an  apology  for  the  revolt  — " 

''  And  the  other  would  be  the  Iliad  of  corruption," 
said  Lucien. 

"  AVell,  I  am  alone, —  I  live  alone.  Though  I  wear 
the  robe,  I  have  not  the  heart  of  a  priest.   I  love  to  de- 


382  Lo8t  lUusioiis. 

vote  raj'self ;  that  is  my  vice.  I  live  by  devotion.  I  do 
not  fear  ingratitude,  and  I  am  grateful.  The  Church 
can  be  nothing  to  my  heart ;  it  is  only  an  idea.  I  am 
devoted  to  the  King  of  Spain,  but  one  cannot  love  a 
king  ;  he  protects  me^  he  towers  above  me.  I  wish  to 
love  my  own  creation  ;  to  fashion  him,  mould  him  to  my 
needs,  in  short  to  love  him  as  a  father  loves  his  child. 
Yes,  my  son,  I  shall  roll  in  your  tilbury,  I  sliall  rejoice 
in  your  success  among  women,  I  shall  say  to  myself: 
*  That  splendid  youth  is  I !  that  Marquis  de  Rubempre, 
I  created  him,  I  placed  him  among  his  peers  ;  his  great- 
ness is  my  work,  he  speaks  or  is  silent  according  to  m}^ 
voice  ;  he  consults  me  in  everything.'  That  is  what  the 
Abbe  de  Vermont  was  to  Marie-Antoinette." 

"  And  he  led  her  to  the  scaffold  !  " 

"  He  did  not  love  the  queen,"  replied  the  priest,  "  he 
loved  only  the  Abbe  de  Vermont." 

"  But  I  have  left  desolation  behind  me,"  said  Lucien. 

"  I  have  wealth  ;  3'ou  shall  share  it." 

"  Certainly  I  would  do  much  at  this  moment  to  res- 
cue Sechard,"  replied  Lucien,  in  a  voice  that  plainly  said 
he  gave  up  suicide. 

"  Sa}'  the  word,  my  son,  and  to-morrow  he  shall 
'receive  the  money  necessary  to  liberate  him." 

"What !  would  you  give  me  twelve  thousand  francs?" 

''  Child  !  we  are  driving  at  twelve  miles  an  hour,  we 
shall  dine  at  Poitiers.  There,  if  you  will  sign  our  com- 
pact, the  diligence  to  Bordeaux  shall  curry  lifteen 
thousand  francs  to  your  sister." 

"  Where  are  they?  " 

The  priest  made  no  reply,  and  liUcion  said  to  him- 
self, "  I  have  caught  him  ;  he  is  onl}'  laughing  at  me." 


Lost  Illusions.  383 

An  instant  later  the  priest  and  the  poet  got  back  into 

the  carriage  silentl}'.  Silently,  too,  the  [)riest  put  his 
hand  into  the  pocket  of  the  carriage  and  drew  forth  a 
leathern  pouch  made  like  a  game  bag,  in  three  compart- 
ments, of  a  kind  that  was  well-known  to  travellers  at 
that  period.  From  it  he  took  a  hundred  portuffaises, 
plunging  his  hand  in  two  or  three  times  and  withdraw- 
ing it  filled  with  gold. 

"  Father,  I  am  yours,"  said  Lucien,  dazzled  by  the 
flood  of  gold. 

"  Child  !  "  said  the  priest,  kissing  Lucien  on  the  fore- 
head tenderly,  "that  is  but  a  fraction  of  the  gold  in 
that  bag,  which  contains  thirty  thousand  francs,  beside 
the  mone}'  for  this  journe}-." 

*'  And  3'ou  dare  to  travel  alone?  "  exclaimed  Lucien. 

"  Oh  !  that  is  nothing,"  said  the  Spaniard  ;  ''I  have 
bills  of  exchange  for  more  than  three  hundred  thousand 
francs  on  Paris.  A  diplomatist  without  monej'  is  what 
you  were  just  now, —  a  poet  without  will." 


384  Lost  Illusions. 


XL 

A    DAY     TOO     LATE. 

At  the  moment  when  Lucien  was  first  getting  into 
the  carriage  of  tlie  pretended  Spanish  diplomat,  Eve 
was  rising  to  feed  her  child.  She  saw  the  fatal  letter 
and  read  it.  A  cold  sweat  chilled  the  warm  moisture 
produced  b}^  her  morning  sleep ;  she  turned  giddy  and 
called  to  Kolb  and  Marion. 

To  her  question  :  "  Has  m}'  brother  gone  out  ?  "  Kolb 
answered.     "  Yes,  madame,  before  da^'light." 

"  Keep  secret  what  I  tell  you,"  said  Eve  to  the  two 
servants;  "my  brother  has  probably  gone  to  end  his 
life.  Go  both  of  you  and  make  inquiries  with  the 
greatest  caution.  Search  along  the  banks  of  the 
river." 

Eve  remained  alone  in  a  state  of  stupor  that  was 
piteous  to  see.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  new  trou])le 
that,  as  early  as  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Petit- 
Claud  came  to  her  on  business.  At  such  moments  we 
are  read^'  to  give  ear  to  an}'  one. 

"  Madame,"  said  the  lawyer,  *'  our  poor  dear  David 
is  in  prison,  and  he  is  now  in  the  situation  I  foresaw 
from  the  very  first  of  this  affiiir.  I  advised  him  then  to 
take  his  competitors,  the  Cointets,  into  partnership  for 


Lost  IlluHions.  385 

the  practical  working  out  of  his  invention.  They  have 
in  their  hands  all  the  means  of  executing  that  which  so 
far  is  onh'  a  conception  in  your  husband's  mind.  So 
last  niglit,  as  soon  as  the  news  of  his  arrest  reached  me, 
what  did  I  do?  I  went  to  see  the  Messrs.  Cointet  in 
the  hope  of  getting  out  of  them  concessions  wliich 
might  satisfy  3'ou.  If  David  continues  to  hold  on  to 
this  discover}'  your  lives  will  remain  what  they  now 
are  —  harassed  b}'  legal  chicanery  in  which  you  will 
be  worsted  ;  worn-out  by  the  struggle  you  will  end, 
probabl}'  to  your  detriment,  with  doing  with  some 
mone3'ed  man  what  I  now  propose  to  you  to  do,  to  your 
advantage,  with  the  Cointets.  B}"  taking  the  course  I 
suggest  you  will  save  yourselves  all  the  privations  and 
also  the  distress  of  the  inevitable  struggle  of  an  in- 
ventor against  the  greed  of  capitalists  and  the  indif- 
ference of  people  at  large.  See  !  if  the  Cointets  pay 
your  debts,  and  if  (your  debts  being  paid)  they  give 
3'ou  a  certain  sum  whatever  be  the  merit,  or  the  fate,  or 
the  possibilities  of  David's  invention,  agreeing,  more- 
over, to  give  3'Ou  a  specified  share  in  the  profits  of  the 
enterprise,  will  not  that  content  3'OU?  You  are  now, 
yourself,  madame,  the  owner  of  the  material  of  the 
printing-house,  and  you  can  certainl}'  sell  it ;  I  will,  in 
fact,  guarantee  you  a  purchaser  at  twenty  thousand 
francs.  If  you  realize  fifteen  thousand  more  b3'  the 
partnership  with  the  Messrs.  Cointet,*  that  gives  you  a 
little  capital  of  thirty-five  thousand  francs ;  at  the 
present  rate  of  interest  you  will  have  two  thousand 
francs  a  year  to  live  on, —  that 's  enough  to  live  cora- 
fortabl3'  in  the  countr3'.  And  remember  also  that  you 
will  have  further  profits  if  the  Messrs.  Cointet  succeed  in 

25 


> 


386  Lost  Illusions. 

the  enterprise.  I  saj'  *  succeed '  because  there  is  always 
a  chance  of  failure.  Well,  here  is  what  I  have  every 
hope  of  obtaining  for  you :  first,  David's  immediate 
liberation ;  then,  fifteen  thousand  francs  paid  for  his  dis- 
covery by  the  Messrs.  Cointet  in  an}'  case,  whether  the 
discover}'  is  productive  or  not ;  next,  a  partnership 
formed  between  David  and  the  Messrs.  Cointet  for  the 
working  of  the  patent  (which  the}'  will  take  out)  and 
for  the  fabrication  of  the  paper,  on  the  following  basis  : 
Messieurs  Cointet  to  pay  all  costs ;  David's  capital  to 
be  the  patent ;  he  to  have  one  fourth  of  the  profits. 
You  are  a  woman  of  good  judgment  with  whom  one  can 
reason  —  which  is  not  always  the  case  with  a  very 
beautiful  woman  ;  reflect  on  these  proposals,  and  I  am 
sure  you  will  think  them  acceptable." 

"  Ah,  monsieur,"  said  the  poor  woman,  bursting  into 
tears,  "  why  did  you  not  make  me  this  proposal  yester- 
day? We  might  have  escaped  dishonor  then  ;  and,  oh, 
worse,  worse  ! " 

*'  My  discussion  with  the  Cointets,  who,  as  you  have 
probably  known  all  along,  are  behind  Metivier,  did  not 
end  till  midnight.  But  what  can  have  happened  worse 
than  poor  David's  arrest?  "  asked  Petit-Claud. 

"  This,  which  I  found  when  I  woke,"  replied  Eve, 
giving  him  Lucien's  letter.  '•You  prove  to  me  now 
that  you  are  really  interested  for  us,  and  a  true  friend 
to  David  and  Lucien.     I  ask  you  to  keep  this  secret." 

"  Don't  be  uneasy,"  said  Petit-Claud,  returning  the 
letter  after  reading  it ;  ''  Lucien  will  not  kill  himself. 
After  being  the  cause  of  his  brother-in-law's  arrest  he 
had  to  find  a  reason  for  leaving  you.  That  is  only  a 
bit  of  stage  business." 


Lost  Illusions.  387 

The  Cointets  had  attained  their  object.  After  tor- 
turing the  inventor  and  his  family  the}'  seized  tlie  mo- 
ment when  the  torture  left  the  victims  wearied  out  and 
glad  of  rest  on  any  terras.  All  inventors  are  not  bull- 
dogs who  will  die  with  their  prize  in  their  jaws,  and  the 
Cointets  had  sngaciousl}'  studied  the  character  of  their 
pre}'.  To  the  tall  Cointet  David's  arrest  was  but  the 
last  scene  of  the  first  act  of  the  drama.  The  second  act 
began  with  the  proposal  Petit-Claud  had  just  made.  To 
the  little  lawyer's  masterl}'  e3'e  Lucien's  folly  was  one  of 
those  unexpected  bits  of  luck  which  decide  a  game.  He 
saw  Eve  so  completeh'  crushed  by  this  event  that  he 
resolved  to  profit  by  it  to  win  her  confidence  ;  for  he 
had  long  suspected  the  influence  of  the  wife  over  the 
husband.  So,  instead  of  plunging  her  deeper  into 
despaii',  he  tried  to  reassure  her  and  lead  her  mind  to 
David  in  prison,  believing  that  she  would  soon  see  the 
necessit}'  of  the  compromise  with  the  Cointets. 

*'  David  has  always  told  me,  madame,  that  he  desired 
wealth  soleh'  for  you  and  for  3'our  brother.  Now  as 
for  your  brother,  you  must  see  by  this  time  that  it  would 
be  folly  to  give  him  money ;  he  would  squander  three 
fortunes." 

Eve's  attitude  showed  only  too  plainl}'  that  her  last 
illusion  as  to  Lucien  had  taken  to  itself  wings  ;  the 
lawyer  therefore  made  a  pause  to  convert  his  client's 
silence  into  a  sort  of  consent. 

"  So,  in  this  matter  of  the  invention,  it  becomes  only 
a  question  of  yourself  and  3'our  child.  It  is  for  j'ou  to 
know  whether  two  thousand  francs  a  3'ear  will  be  enough 
for  your  comfort ;  not  considering,  of  course,  your  futui-e 
inheritance  from  old  Se'chard.     He  has  laid  by  in  the 


388  Lost  Illusions. 

course  of  his  long  life  enough  to  give  him  now  an  income 
of  seven  or  eight  thousand  francs,  without  counting  the 
interest  he  gets  on  his  other  propert}'.  You  have,  in 
an}'  case,  a  good  future  before  you.  Why  be  harassed 
now?" 

Petit-Claud  left  Madame  Sechard  to  reflect  on  this 
perspective,  rather  cleverlj'  suggested  to  him  by  the  tall 
Cointet. 

"  Go  and  show  them  the  possibilit}'  of  getting  some 
kind  of  a  sum  in  hand,"  the  lynx  of  Angouleme  had 
said,  when  the  lawyer  came  to  tell  him  of  the  arrest. 
''When  they  get  accustomed  to  the  idea  of  actuall}" 
having  mone}'  we  can  do  what  we  like  with  them  ;  we 
can  bargain  then,  and  little  by  little  we  can  get  them 
down  to  a  price  we  are  willing  to  pay." 

That  sentence  contained  what  may  be  called  the  argu- 
ment of  the  second  act  of  this  financial  drama. 

When  Madame  Sechard,  with  a  heart  wrung  by  appre- 
hensions as  to  her  brother's  fate,  was  dressed  and  ready 
to  go  to  the  prison  and  see  her  husband,  she  was  over- 
come with  dread  at  the  idea  of  walking  through  the 
streets  alone.  At  this  moment  Petit-Claud,  with  no 
thought  of  his  chent's  anxiety,  returned  to  offer  her  his 
arm,  moved  thereto  b}'  a  reflection  that  was  sufficiently 
Machiavelian ;  and  he  had  the  merit  of  a  delicacy  of 
which  Eve  was  not  aware,  for  he  allowed  her  to  thank 
him  without  correcting  *her  mistake.  This  little  atten- 
tion in  a  man  so  hard  and  unbending,  and  at  such  a 
moment,  softened,  as  Petit-Claud  meant  it  shoukl,  the 
opinion  tliat  Madame  Sechard  had  hitherto  held  of  him. 

"  I  shall  take  you  by  the  longest  way,"  he  said,  "  so 
that  you  ma}'  meet  no  one." 


Lost  Illusions.  389 

*'  This  is  tlie  first  time,  monsieur,  that  I  have  not  the 
riglit  to  carry  my  head  high  I  they  taught  me  a  hard 
lesson  yesterday." 

'-  The  first  and  the  last,"  replied  Petit-Claud. 

"  Oh  !  I  will  never  stay  in  this  town." 

"  If  your  husband  consents  to  the  proposals  which 
are  as  good  as  made  by  the  Cointets  to  me,"  said  Petit- 
Claud,  as  they  reached  the  gates  of  the  prison,  "  send 
me  word,  and  I  will  come  at  once  with  an  order  from 
Cachan,  on  which  David  will  be  released,  and  apparently 
there  will  be  no  reason  for  his  return  to  prison." 

This  proposal,  made  in  front  of  the  jail,  was  what  the 
Italians  call  a  ''  combinazione."  The  word  with  them 
means  an  indefinable  act  in  which  a  little  tricker}'  is 
mingled  with  legal  right,  the  o[>t)ortunit3'  for  permissible 
fraud,  a  knavery  that  is  half  legitimate  and  well  schemed. 

For  reasons  lately  explained,  imprisonment  for  debt 
is  so  rare  an  occurrence  in  the  provinces  that  in  most 
of  the  towns  of  France  there  is  no  house  of  detention. 
When  that  is  the  case  the  debtor  is  locked  up  in  the 
same  prison  where  tliev  incarcerate  accused  persons, 
prisoners  before  trial,  and  convicts  ;  such  are  the  divers 
names  applied  legally  and  successivel}*  to  those  who  are 
generically  called  criminals.  David  was  therefore  put 
provisionally  in  one  of  the  lower  rooms  of  the  prison  of 
Angouleme,  from  which  some  convict  had  probably  just 
been  let  out  after  serving  his  time.  When  he  was  locked 
in,  with  the  sum  decreed  by  law  to  provide  his  food  for 
the  period  of  one  month,  David  found  hi-mself  in  pres- 
ence of  a  stout  man  who  was  to  the  captives  a  power 
greater  than  the  king  himself;  namely,  the  jailer.  There 
is  no  such  thing  in  the  provinces  as  a  thin  jailer.    First, 


390  Lost  Illusions, 

because  the  place  is  almost  a  sinecure ;  next,  because  a 
jailer  is  something  like  an  innkeeper  without  any  rent  to 
paj' ;  he  feeds  himself  verj;  well  and  his  prisoners  very 
ill,  lodging  them  moreover  (like  the  innkeeper)  according 
to  their  means.  He  knew  David  by  name  through  his 
father,  and  he  felt  confidence  enough  in  that  relationship 
to  lodge  the  son  for  one  night  well,  though  he  knew  that 
David  had  not  a  penny  of  his  own. 

The  prison  of  Angouleme  dates  from  the  middle 
ages  and  has  been  left  as  unchanged  as  the  cathedral. 
It  is  still  called  the  House  of  Justice,  and  is  backed  b}' 
the  old  law  courts.  The  entrance  is  classic  ;  the  door, 
which  is  studded  with  enormous  iron  nails,  solid  but 
worn,  is  low  in  height,  and  seems  all  the  more  Cj'clopean 
because  of  a  peep-hole  in  its  centre  (through  which  the 
jailer  looks  before  he  opens  it),  which  has  the  effect  of 
a  single  e3'e.  A  corridor  runs  the  whole  length  of  the 
front  of  the  building  on  the  ground-floor,  and  on  this 
corridor  open  several  rooms,  the  tall  windows  of  which 
look  out  upon  the  yard.  The  jailer  occupied  an 
apartment  separated  from  these  rooms  b}^  a  vaulted 
space  which  divided  the  ground-floor  into  two  divisions, 
at  the  farther  end  of  which  could  be  seen  from  the  en- 
trance an  iron  gate  opening  into  the  yard.  David  was 
conducted  by  the  jailer  into  one  of  the  rooms  which 
was  nearest  to  this  vaulted  space ;  the  man  was  evi- 
dently not  unwilling  to  have  for  his  neighbor  a  i)risoner 
with  whom  he  could  talk. 

''This  is  tlie  best  room,"  he  said,  seeing  that  David 
seemed  stupefied  at  the  aspect  of  the  abode. 

The  walls  of  the  room  were  of  stone  and  quite  dami). 
The  windows,  which  were  very  high   up,  were   barred 


Lout  Illusions.  391 

with  iron.  The  stone  pavement  was  icy.  The  regular 
step  of  the  sentry  resounded  as  he  paced  the  corridor. 
That  monotonous  sound,  like  that  of  the  tide,  keeps  the 
one  thought  before  your  mind  :  "  You  are  not  free  !  \'OU 
are  not  fiee  !  you  are  guarded !  "  These  details  and 
the  general  impression  thus  produced,  act  powerfully 
on  the  mental  condition  of  honest  men. 

David  saw  before  him  an  execrable  bed  ;  but  persons 
just  incarcerated  are  so  violonth'  agitated  during  the 
first  night  that  they  do  not  find  out  the  miseries  of  their 
couch  till  the  second.  The  jailer  was  gracious  ;  he 
proposed  to  his  prisoner  to  walk  in  the  yard  till  bed- 
time. He  was  forbidden  to  let  the  prisoners  have 
lights  ;  and  it  would  require  an  application  to  the  7J>/'0- 
cureur  da  roi  to  exempt  a  prisoner  for  debt  from  a 
regulation  which  evidently  concerned  only  those  who 
were  in  the  hands  of  justice.  The  jailer  even  admitted 
David  to  his  own  room,  but  was  forced  to  lock  him  up 
when  bed-time  came.  Eve's  poor  husband  then  knew 
the  horrors  of  a  prison  and  the  coarseness  of  its  cus- 
toms, which  sickened  him.  But,  by  one  of  those  reac- 
tions familiar  enough  to  thinkers,  he  isolated  himself 
in  this  solitude,  taking  refuge  in  a  dream  such  as  poets 
have  the  power  to  dream  awake.  The  poor  soul's 
mind  at  last  reverted  to  reflection  on  his  present  situa- 
tion. A  prison  has  an  extraordinar}*  power  to  drive  a 
man  to  examine  his  conscience.  David  asked  himself 
whether  he  had  done  his  duty  as  head  of  a  family. 
What  must  now  be  the  desolation  of  his  wife?  AVhy 
had  he  not.  as  Marion  said,  earned  enough  money  to 
support  his  family  and  worked  at  his  invention  later? 

"And  now,"  he  said  to  himself,  "how  can  we  stay 


^ 


392  Lost  Illusions. 

ill  Angouleme  after   this  disgrace?      If   I  get  out  of 
prison,  what  will  become  of  us?  where  can  we  go?" 

It  was  an  agony  of  mind  such  as  none  can  under- 
stand but  inventors  themselves.  Going  from  doubt  to 
doubt,  David  came  at  last  to  see  his  situation  clearl}', 
and  he  said  to  himself,  what  the  Cointets  had  said  to 
his  father,  what  Petit-Claud  had  just  said  to  Eve : 
"  Even  supposing  all  goes  well  with  the  discover}^  how 
can  I  work  it?  I  must  have  a  patent,  and  that  means 
mone}'  !  I  must  have  a  manufactor}*  to  test  m}'  inven- 
tion on  a  larger  scale,  and  that  will  give  ni}-  secret  to 
everybody  !  Yes,  Petit-Claud  was  right.  Ah  !  "  said 
David,  turning  over  to  go  to  sleep  on  the  camp  bed- 
stead, with  the  horrible  mattress  covered  witli  coarse 
brown  cloth,  "I  shall  certainlv  see  Petit-Claud  to- 
morrow morning." 

David  was  therefore  prepared  by  his  own  mind  to 
listen  to  the  proposals  which  his  wife  brought  him  from 
his  enemies.  After  kissing  her  husband  and  sitting 
down  on  the  foot  of  his  bed  (for  there  was  only  one 
wooden  chair  of  the  vilest  kind)  her  wifely  eyes  fell 
on  the  horrible  pail  standing  in  a  corner  of  the  cell, 
and  the  names  and  epigrams  written  on  the  walls  b}^ 
his  predecessors.  Then  the  tears  began  again  to  flow 
from  her  reddened  eyes ;  after  the  many  that  she  had 
shed  a  fresh  flood  came  when  she  saw  her  husband  in 
the  condition  of  a  criminal. 

"  Tiiis  is  what  comes  in  this  world  of  a  desire  for 
fame  !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh  !  my  angel,  abandon  it !  Let 
us  tread  together  the  beaten  path,  and  cease  to  seek  a 
rapid  fortune.  I  need  so  little  to  make  me  happy  — 
especially  now  that  I  have  suflTered  so  much.      Oh,  if 


Lost  Illusions.  393 

3'ou  knew  all !  this  dishonoring  arrest  is  not  our  greatest 
misfortune  !  —  read  that." 

She  gave  him  Lucien's  letter,  but  to  lessen  the  shock 
she  repeated  Petit-Claud's  scoffing  speech. 

"  If  Lucien  is  to  kill  himself  it  is  done  by  this  time," 
said  David ;  *'  and  if  it  is  not  alread\'  done,  he  will 
never  do  it.  He  has  not,  as  he  sa3's  himself,  courage 
enough  for  more  than  one  morning." 

"  But  to  keep  us  in  such  anxiet}' ! "  cried  the  sister, 
who  had  been  read}'  to  forgive  all  in  the  presence  of 
death. 

^he  repeated  to  her  husband  the  proposals  which 
Petit-Claud  professed  to  have  made  to  the  Cointets. 
David  agreed  to  them  with  evident  pleasure. 

*'  We  shall  have  enough  to  live  on  in  the  village  be- 
yond I'Houmeau  where  the  Cointets'  factory  is,  and  all 
I  want  now  is  tranquillity,"  said  the  inventor.  "  If 
Lucien  has  punished  himself  by  death,  we  shall  be  able 
to  support  ourselves  while  my  father  lives  ;  if  the  poor 
lad  is  still  alive  he  must  learn  to  conform  himself  to 
our  povert3\  The  Cointets  will  of  course  profit  by  my 
discover}' ;  but,  after  all,  what  am  I  in  comparison  to 
the  good  that  will  be  done  to  the  country  !  —  only  one 
man.  If  my  invention  is  a  benefit  to  all,  well,  I  am 
satisfied !  Dear  Eve,  we  were  neither  of  us  born  to  be 
merchants.  We  have  not  that  love  of  gain,  nor  that 
hatred  of  parting  with  money  which  are,  perhaps,  the 
virtues  of  the  mercantile  mind  —  for  they  call  those  two 
forms  of  avarice,  Prudence  and  Commercial  Genius  !  " 

Delighted  with  this  conformity  of  opinion  (one  of  the 
sweetest  flowers  of  love,  for  minds  and  self-interests 
are  onl}'  in  harmony  where  two  beings  love  each  other) 


394  Lost  Illusions. 

Eve  begged  the  jailer  to  send  a  note  to  Petit-Claud,  in 
which  she  asked  hira  to  come  and  release  David,  and 
assured  him  of  their  mutual  consent  to  the  basis  of  his 
proposed  settlement.  Ten  minutes  later  the  lawyer  ap- 
peared in  the  horrible  room  and  said  to  Eve :  "Go 
home,  madame,  and  we  will  follow  3'ou." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Petit-Claud,  when  the}'  were 
alone,  "how  came  30U  to  be  taken?  How  could  you 
be  so  unwise  as  to  leave  your  hiding-place?  " 

"  I  could  not  help  coming  out ;  here  is  what  Lucien 
wrote  me." 

David  gave  Petit-Claud  Lucien's  note.  The  lavyer 
took  it,  read  it,  looked  at  it,  felt  the  paper  and  folded 
the  letter,  as  if  abstractedly ;  then,  as  the  conversation 
went  on,  he  slipped  it  unperceived  into  his  pocket. 
Presently  he  put  his  arm  within  David's  and  wont  out 
with  him  ;  for  the  jailer  had  brought  the  discharge 
during  their  conversation. 

When  David  reached  home  he  felt  in  heaven.  He 
cried  Hke  a  child  as  he  kissed  his  little  Lucien  and  found 
himself  again  in  that  blue  and  white  bedroom  after 
twenty  days'  detention,  the  last  of  wiiich  was,  according 
to  provincial  ideas,  degrading.  Kolb  and  Marion  had 
returned.  Marion  heard  in  I'Houmeau  that  Lucien  had 
been  seen  walking  along  the  road  to  Paris  beyond  Mar- 
sac.  His  dandified  dress  was  noticed  by  the  country- 
men who  were  bringing  their  produce  to  market.  Kolb, 
who  had  made  his  search  on  horseback,  was  told  at 
Mansle  tliat  Lucien  had  been  recognized  in  a  travelling 
carriage  with  post-horses  on  the  road  to  Poitiers. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you?  "  cried  Petit-Claud.  "  He  is 
not  a  poet,  that  fellow,  he 's  a  perpetual  romance." 


Lost  Illimons,  395 

*' Post-horses !  "  said  Eve,  "where  can  he  be  going 
this  time?  " 

"Now,"  said  Petit-Claud  to  David,  "come  and  see 
the  Messrs.  Cointet ;  they  are  expecting  you." 

"Ah,  monsieur,"  said  Madame  Siichard,  "protect 
our  interests,  I  implore  you  ;  you  have  our  future  in  your 
hands." 

"  Should  you  like  the  conference  to  take  place  here, 
madame?  "  said  the  lawyer.  "If  so,  I  will  leave  David 
now.  The  Messrs.  Cointet  can  come  here  this  evening, 
and  you  shall  see  for  yourself  how  I  defend  3'our 
interests." 

"  You  will  greatly  oblige  me,"  said  Eve. 

"  Very  good,  then,"  said  Petit-Claud.  "  To-night, 
here,  about  seven  o'clock." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Eve,  with  a  look  and  accent 
which  proved  to  Petit-Claud  what  strides  he  had  made 
in  his  client's  confidence. 

"Fear  nothing  now,"  he  added.  "As  for  your 
brother,  he  is  fifty  miles  away  from  suicide  by  this  time. 
To-night  you  will  be  the  possessors  of  a  small  fortune. 
I  have  already  had  a  proposal  for  the  printing-office." 

"  If  we  can  sell  that,"  said  Eve,  "  why  not  wait  be- 
fore committing  ourselves  to  the  Cointets?  " 

"You  forget,  madame,"  said  Petit- Claud,  who  saw 
his  blunder,  "  that  you  will  be  free  to  sell  the  estab- 
lishment only  after  you  have  paid  Monsieur  Metivier, 
for  all  the  utensils  are  attached." 

As  soon  as  he  got  back  to  his  office  Petit-Claud  sent 
for  Cerizet.  When  the  ex-gamin  arrived  he  took  him 
into  the  embrasure  of  a  window. 

"  You  shall,   to-morrow,  be    the   proprietor  of  the 


396  Lost  Illusions, 

S^chard  printing-house  and  sufRcienth'  backed  to  obtain 
a  license,"  he  whispered  to  him  ;  "but you  don't  want  to 
end  at  the  galleys,  do  j^ou ? " 

"  What !  what !  —  the  galleys  ?  "  exclaimed  Cerizet. 

"  Your  letter  to  David  is  a  forgery,  and  I  have  got  it. 
If  anyone  inquires  of  Henriette  Signol,  what  will  she 
repl}'?  I  don't  waqt  to  ruin  3'ou,"  went  on  Petit-Claud, 
as  Cerizet  turned  pale. 

''You  want  something  more  of  me,"  cried  Cerizet, 
recovering  himself. 

"I  want  this,"  resumed  Petit-Claud,  "  and  pay  at- 
tention to  what  I  sa}'.  You  will  be  a  printer  in  Angou- 
leme,  but  you  will  owe  for  3'our  printing-house  and  3'ou 
cannot  pa}'  it  off  in  ten  years  !  You  will  have  to  work 
long  and  hard  for  your  capitalists,  and,  moreover,  you 
will  be  made  the  cat's-paw  of  the  Liberals.  I  shall  draw 
up  your  deed  of  agreement  with  Gannerac  ;  and  I  shall 
do  it  in  a  wa}-  to  secure  the  printing-house  to  3'ou 
eventuall}'.  But,  if  the}-  start  a  newspaper,  if  you  are 
the  publisher  of  it,  if  I  am  the  first  assistant-procureur 
of  Angouleme  as  I  shall  be,  you  are  to  arrange  with  the 
tall  Cointet  privately  to  put  such  articles  of  a  political 
nature  into  your  paper  that  it  will  be  seized  and  sup- 
pressed. The  Cointets  will  pay  you  handsomely  for 
that  service ;  I  admit  that  you  will  be  condemned  and 
sent  to  prison,  but  that  will  make  you  important, —  you 
will  be  called  persecuted,  and  end  in  becoming  a  great 
personage  in  the  Liberal  party, —  a  Sergeant  Mercier,  a 
Paul-Louis  Courrier,  a  Manuel  on  a  small  scale.  The 
day  that  newspaper  is  suppressed  I  '11  burn  that  forged 
letter  before  your  eyes.  Your  fortune  won't  cost  you 
dear." 


Lost  Illusions.  397 

People  of  the  lower  ranks  have  very  mistaken  ideas 
about  the  legal  distinctions  as  to  forgery,  and  Cerizet, 
who  fancied  himself  already  in  a  police-court,  breathed 
easier. 

''  Three  years  from  now  I  shall  be  procureur  clii  roi 
in  Angouleme,"  continued  Petit-Claud,  "and  you  may 
have  need  of  me, —  remember  that" 

•'  That 's  understood,''  said  Cerizet.  "But  you  don't 
know  me  ;  burn  that  letter  before  me  now  and  trust  to 
my  gratitude." 

Petit-Claud  looked  at  him.  It  was  one  of  those  duels 
of  eye  to  eye  when  the  glance  of  him  who  observes 
is  like  a  scalpel  with  which  he  attempts  to  search  the 
soul  through  the  eyes  of  the  man  who  struggles  to  bring 
his  virtues  to  the  front ;  it  was  indeed  a  dramatic 
spectacle. 

Petit-Claud  made  no  answer  ;  he  lighted  a  candle  and 
burned  the  letter,  saying  to  himself,  "  He  has  his  fortune 
to  make." 

"  You  have  a  slave  through  thick  and  thin,"  said  the 
ex-gamin. 

David  awaited  in  vague  uneasiness  his  conference 
with  the  Cointets  ;  it  was  neither  the  discussion  of  his 
interests  nor  the  nature  of  the  compact  to  be  made 
which  troubled  him,  but  the  opinion  the  manufacturers 
might  form  on  his  discovery.  He  was  in  the  position 
of  a  dramatic  author  before  his  judges.  The  self-love  of 
the  inventor  and  his  anxiety  on  the  verge  of  attaining 
his  end  paled  all  other  feelings.  At  last,  about  seven 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  just  as  Madame  la  Comtesse  du 
Chatelet  was  going  to  bed  under  pretence  of  a  headache, 
but  reall}'  to  let  her  husband  do  the  honors  of  the  dinner, 


398  Lofit  Illusions. 

so  disturbed  was  she  at  the  various  contradictor}'  stories 
about  Lucien's  disappearance  which  were  flying  through 
the  town,  the  two  Cointets,  tall  and  stout,  accompanied 
by  Petit-Claud,  entered  the  house  of  their  competitor, 
who  was  now  delivered  over  to  them  bound  hand  and 
foot. 

A  preliminarj^  difficulty  presented  itself  at  once.  How 
could  a  deed  of  partnership  be  drawn  up  unless  David's 
process  was  known  ?  and  if  he  made  known  his  process 
he  was  at  the  mercy  of  the  Cointets.  Petit-Claud,  how- 
ever, obtained  the  concession  that  the  deed  should  be 
drawn  before  the  secret  was  divulged.  The  tall  Cointet 
then  asked  David  to  show  his  products,  and  the  inventor 
produced  samples  of  the  last  paper  he  had  made,  guar- 
anteeing the  net  cost  of  it. 

^'  Why,  there  !  "  said  Petit-Claud,  ''  there  's  basis 
enough  for  the  deed  ;  why  not  take  that  sum  and  intro- 
duce a  clause  of  dissolution  of  partnership  in  case  the 
conditions  of  the  patent  are  not  carried  out  when  it 
comes  to  the  manufacture  of  the  paper?" 

''It  is  one  thing,  monsieur,"  said  the  tall  Cointet, 
addressing  David,  "to  produce  in  one's  own  room  over 
a  small  furnace  a  few  samples  of  paper,  and  quite  an- 
other to  manufacture  a  satisfactory  paper  on  a  large 
scale.  You  can  judge  of  that  b}-  one  fact.  We  make 
colored  papers  ;  and  we  bu}^  in  order  to  color  them, 
blocks  of  color  which  are  supposed  to  be  identicalU'  the 
same.  The  indigo  we  use  for  the  bluing  of  our  post- 
demy  paper  is  taken  from  a  case  in  which  all  the  cakes 
come  from  the  same  manufactory,  and  yet  we  have 
never  been  able  to  make  two  batches  of  the  same  shade. 
There  is  something  in  the  preparation  of  our  materials 


Lost  Illusions.  809 

which  we  have  never  yet  been  able  to  get  hold  of.  The 
quantity  and  quality  change  instantly  on  the  slightest 
provocation.  AVhen  you  hold  in  a  pan  a  portion  of  the 
ingredients  (I  do  not  ask  what  the}'  are)  you  are  master 
of  them  ;  you  can  act  upon  all  the  parts  uniformly  ;  you 
can  mix  them,  knead  them,  work  them  up  as  you  please, 
amalgamate  them  thoroughly.  But  who  can  guarantee 
that  in  a  vat  of  five  hundred  reams  the  same  thing  can 
be  done?  and,  if  not  certain,  your  process  may  be  a 
failure." 

David,  Eve,  and  Petit-Claud  looked  at  each  other, 
saying  man}'  things  b}'  their  e3'es. 

"  Take  an  example  which  offers  some  analog}',"  said 
the  tall  Cointet,  after  a  pause.  "You  cut  two  bales  of 
hay  in  your  field,  and  you  put  them  very  closely  to- 
gether in  your  loft,  not  allowing  the  grass  to  strike  fire, 
as  the  peasants  say.  Fermentation  takes  place,  but  it 
does  no  harm.  You  rely  on  that  experience  to  put  two 
thousand  bales  in  a  wooden  granary ;  the  hay  ignites, 
and  the  barn  burns  like  a  match.  You  are  a  man  of 
intelligence,''  said  Cointet  to  David  ;  "  draw  your  own 
inference.  You  have  at  this  moment  cut  your  two  bales 
of  hay,  but  we  are  afraid  of  destroying  our  i)aper-works 
by  putting  in  two  thousand  bales.  In  other  words,  we 
are  liable  to  lose  whole  vats  full,  make  heavy  losses, 
and  find  ourselves  with  nothing  in  hand  after  spending 
a  great  deal  of  money." 

David  was  struck  dumb.  The  practical  man  was 
talking  practice  to  theory,  whose  own  language  is  always 
of  the  future. 

''  The  devil  take  me  if  I  sign  any  such  deed  of  part- 
nership," cried  the  stout  Cointet,  roughly.     "  You  can 


400  Lost  Illusions. 

lose  3'our  money  if  3011  like,  Boniface,  I  shall  keep 
mine  ;  I  offer  to  pay  the  debts  of  Monsieur  Sechard 
and  six  thousand  francs  —  no,  three  thousand  in  notes," 
he  said,  catching  himself  up,  "  payable  in  twelve  and 
fifteen  months.  That 's  risk  enough  to  run.  We  shall 
have  full}^  twelve  thousand  francs  to  pay  to  Metivier  — 
in  all,  fifteen  thousand  francs ;  and  that 's  as  much  as 
I  shall  agree  to  pa}^  for  this  secret.  So  this  is  the  dis- 
cover}^ you  have  been  talking  about,  Boniface?  Well, 
I  gave  3'ou  credit  for  more  sense.  No,  that 's  not  what 
I  call  a  good  business  aff'air." 

"  The  question  for  you,"  said  Petit-Claud,  not  alarmed 
b}^  this  outburst,  "  reduces  itself  to  this  :  Will  you  risk 
twent3'  thousand  francs  to  bu3'  a  secret  which  may 
enrich  you?  Wh3',  gentlemen,  risks  are  always  in  pro- 
portion to  profits.  This  is  a  stake  of  twentv  thou- 
sand francs  against  fortune.  A  player  puts  down  a 
louis  to  win  thirt3'-six  at  roulette ;  wh3'  not  do  the 
same  thing?  " 

''  I  want  time  to  reflect,"  said  the  stout  Cointet ;  '*  for 
m}"  part,  I  am  not  so  long-headed  as  m}'  brother.  I  'm 
only  a  poor  chap  who  knows  but  one  thiug  —  how  to 
make  a  prayer-book  for  twenty  sous,  and  sell  it  at  fortv. 
I  consider  an  invention  which  has  n't  been  tried  a  road 
to  ruin.  You  may  succeed  in  the  first  vat  and  fail  in 
the  second,  and  so  on,  and  so  on  ;  you  get  drawn  in  ;  and 
wlien  your  arm  is  once  cauglit  in  that  sort  of  machinery 
the  bod3'  follows." 

The  stout  Cointet  clinched  his  remarks  113'  citing  the 
example  of  a  merchant  in  Bordeaux  who  was  ruined 
because  he  would  cultivate  waste  lands  on  the  advice 
of  a  man  of  science ;  he  produced  six  other  examples, 


Lost  lUuHions.  401 

all  of  the  same  nature,  in  the  department  of  the  Charente 
and  the  Dordognc  ;  then  he  got  angiy  and  would  listen 
to  nothing ;  Petit-Claud's  corrections  seemed  only  to 
increase  his  irritation  instead  of  calming  it. 

"  I  would  much  rather  pay  dearer  for  a  sure  thing 
and  get  smaller  profits,"  he  cried,  looking  at  his  brother. 
'^  In  my  opinion,  nothing  is  advanced  enough  to  go 
upon." 

'*But  you  came  here  with  some  intention  or  other," 
said  Petit-Claud.     "  "What  do  you  propose?  " 

"  To  free  Monsieur  Sechard  and  to  guarantee  him, 
in  case  of  success,  thirty  per  cent  on  the  profits,"  said 
the  tall  Cointet,  quickly. 

"  But  monsieur,"'  said  Eve,  "  what  should  we  have 
to  live  on  until  the  profits  come  in?  My  husband  has 
had  the  shame  of  going  to  prison  ;  he  can  return  there 
without  incurring  more,  and  we  will  pay  our  debts 
by  —  " 

Petit-Claud  put  his  finger  on  his  lips  and  looked  at 
Eve. 

"  You  are  not  reasonable,"  he  said  to  the  two 
brothers:  ''  You  have  seen  the  samples,  and  old  Mon- 
sieur Sechard  told  you  that  his  son,  who  was  locked 
in  by  him,  did  make  in  a  single  night  with  ingredients 
that  cost  him  next  to  nothing,  a  most  excellent  paper. 
You  are  here  to  bring  this  negotiation  to  a  crisis.  Will 
you  buy  the  invention,  yes  or  no?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  tall  Cointet.  "  Whether  my  brother 
agrees  or  not,  I  am  willing  to  risk,  on  my  own  account, 
the  payment  of  Monsieur  Sechard's  debts,  and  six  thou- 
sand francs  cash  down,  and  thirty  per  cent  profits  to 
Monsieur  Sechard;  provided — listen  to  this  —  that  if, 

26 


402  Los^t  Illusions. 

in  the  course  of  one  3'ear,  lie  has  not  reahzed  the  con- 
ditions which  he  will  himselC  put  into  the  deed  he  is 
to  return  the  six  thousand  francs,  and  the  patent  is  to 
belong  to  us,  to  make  any  use  we  can  of  it." 

*'  Are  you  quite  sure  of  yourself?  "  said  Petit-Claud, 
taking  David  aside. 

''Yes,"  replied  the  inventor  who  was  completely 
caught  by  the  tactics  of  the  two  brothers,  and  who 
dreaded  lest  the  stout  Cointet  should  again  interfere 
and  frustrate  an  agreement  on  which  the  future  of  his 
familj'  depended. 

"  Very  good,  then  I  will  at  once  go  and  draw  up  the 
deed,"  said  Petit-Claud  turning  to  the  Cointets  and 
Eve.  "  You  shall  each  have  a  cop}'  to-night,  3'ou  can 
think  it  over  to-morrow  morning ;  and  at  four  in  the 
afternoon,  as  soon  as  the  court  rises  we  will  meet  here 
and  sign  the  papers.  You,  gentlemen,  must  at  once 
settle  the  matter  with  Metivier ;  and  I  will  write  to  stop 
the  suit  in  the  Ro3'al  Court." 

Here  follows  the  clause  of  the  deed  containing 
David  Sechard's  obligations  :  — 

"Between  the  undersigned,  etc. 

"  Monsieur  David  Sechard,  printer  at  Angouleme  affirming 
that  he  has  discovered  the  means  of  sizing  paper  in  the  vat, 
and  also  the  means  of  reducing  the  cost  of  manufacturing 
paper  of  all  kinds  at  least  fifty  per  cent  by  the  introduction 
of  vegetable  matters  into  the  pulp,  either  by  mixing  them 
with  the  rags  already  employed,  or  by  using  them  without 
the  admixture  of  rags,  a  partnership  for  the  taking  out  of  a 
patent  and  working  the  same,  is  hereby  formed  between 
Monsieur  David  Sechard,  jr.,  and  the  JNIessrs.  Cointet 
Brothers,  on  the  following  clauses  and  conditions  :  —  " 


Lo^t  Illusions.  403 

One  of  the  articles  of  the  deed  deprived  David  com- 
pletely of  all  his  rights  in  case  he  did  not  fulfil  the 
promises  made  in  this  document,  which  was  carefully 
dictated  by  the  tall  Cointet  and  agreed  to  b}'  David. 
When  Petit-Claud  brought  the  deed  at  half-past  seven 
the  next  morning  he  informed  David  and  his  wife  that 
Cerizet  otfered  twenty-two  thousand  francs  in  readv 
money  for  the  printing-house.  The  deed  of  sale  could 
be  sio^ned  that  evening. 

"  But,"  he  said,  'Mf  the  Cointets  hear  of  this  pur- 
chase the}'  are  capable  of  not  signing  the  other  deed ; 
they  might  try  to  harass  you  —  " 

"  Are  you  sure  that  the  purchase  mone}'  will  be 
paid?"  said  Eve,  astonished  at  the  settlement  of  a 
matter  she  had  long  despaired  of;  a  settlement  which, 
had  it  been  made  three  months  earlier  would  have  saved 
everything. 

"I  have  the  money  now  in  my  hands,"  said  Petit- 
Claud,  plainh'. 

"  It  is  magic  !  "  said  David,  as  if  to  ask  Petit-Claud 
for  an  explanation  of  this  good  luck. 

"No,  it  is  a  very  simple  thing;  the  merchants  of 
I'Houmeau  want  to  found  a  newspaper,"  said  the 
lawyer. 

"But  I  have  signed  a  paper  not  to  do  so,"  cried 
David. 

"  You  have  ;  but  your  successor  has  n't.  Besides, 
don't  worr}'  yourself  about  anything ;  sell  the  place, 
pocket  the  money,  and  leave  Cerizet  to  wriggle  out  of 
any  difficulty  that  may  arise  —  he  knows  very  well  how 
to  do  that." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Eve. 


404  Lost  Illusions. 

"  If  you  are  restrained  from  printing  a  newspaper  in 
Angouleme  the  merchants  of  I'Houmeau  will  have  it 
issued  there,  that 's  all." 

Eve,  dazzled  by  the  perspective  of  having  thirt}^ 
thousand  francs  and  being  thus  placed  above  want,  re- 
garded the  deed  of  partnership  as  a  secondary-  conside- 
ration ;  consequently  Monsieur  and  Madame  Sechard 
yielded  a  point  in  that  deed  which  gave  rise  to  a  last 
discussion.  The  tall  Cointet  demanded  the  right  to 
have  the  patent  made  out  in  his  name.  He  succeeded  in 
showing  that  as  David's  rights  were  clearl}-  defined  in 
the  deed  the  patent  could  be  held  indifferentl}'  b}'  either 
of  them.  His  brother  clinched  the  matter  by  saying: 
"  It  is  Boniface  who  pays  for  the  patent  and  the  costs 
of  the  journey, —  and  the}'  '11  amount  to  at  least  two 
thousand  francs.  Let  him  have  it  in  his  own  name,  or 
give  the  thing  up  altogether."  The  lynx  triumphed  ;  he 
triumphed  at  all  points.  The  deed  of  partnership  was 
signed  about  half-past  four.  The  tall  Cointet  gallantly 
presented  to  Madame  Sechard  a  dozen  forks  and  spoons 
in  silver  filagree  and  a  handsome  Tornaux  shawl,  by 
way  of  pin-money,  to  induce  her,  he  said,  to  forget  the 
asperities  of  the  discussion. 

The  copies  of  the  deed  were  scarcely  exchanged, 
Cachan  had  just  handed  over  to  Petit-Claud  the  legal 
releases  and  receipts  and  the  fatal  notes  forged  by 
Lucien,  when  the  rumbling  cart  of  the  Messageries 
stopped  before  the  door,  and  Kolb's  voice  echoed  up 
the  stairway :  — 

"  Madame  !  madame  !  Fifteen  thousand  francs  !  "  he 
cried,  *'  sent  from  Poitiers  in  real  money,  by  Monsieur 
Lucien ! " 


Lost  Illusions.  405 

"  Fifteen  thousand  francs !  "  cried  Eve,  throwing  up 
her  arms. 

"Yes,  madarae,"  said  the  carrier,  following  Kolb, 
"  fifteen  thousand  francs  brought  b}'  the  Bordeaux  dili- 
gence, and  a  pretty  load  it  was.  I  have  two  men  below 
to  bring  up  the  bags.  They  are  sent  by  Monsieur 
Lucien  Chardon  de  Rubempre.  I  have  brought  up  a 
small  leather  bag  containing  five  hundred  francs  fur 
30U,  and  this  letter :  — 

Eve  thou2:ht  she  was  dreaming  as  she  read  what 
follows  :  — 

My  dear   Sister, —  Plere  are  fifteen  thousand  francs. 

Instead  of  taking  my  life  I  have  sold  myself.  I  am  no 
longer  my  own  master  ;  I  am  the  secretary,  the  creature  of 
a  Spanish  diplomatist. 

I  begin  once  more  my  terrible  existence.  Perhaps  I  had 
better  have  drowned  myself. 

Farewell.  David  will  be  free,  and  with  the  other  four 
thousand  francs  he  can  buy  himself  a  little  paper-mill  and 
make  his  fortune. 

Forget  —  I  demand  this  of  you  —  forget 
Your  unhappy  brother, 

Lucien. 

"  It  is  written,"  cried  Madame  Chardon,  "  that  my 
poor  son  is  fated  to  do  evil,  as  he  said  he  was,  even  in 
doing  good." 

"  That  was  a  narrow  escape  !  "  cried  the  tall  Cointet, 
as  soon  as  he  was  safely  out  of  the  house.  "  An  hour 
later  the  possession  of  that  money  would  have  changed 
the  face  of  everything ;  our  man  would  never  have 
signed  the  deed.  Three  months  hence  we  shall  see  how 
he  keeps  that  promise,  and  know  where  we  stand." 


406  Lost  Illusions. 


XII. 

AN   ILLUSION    RESIGNED. 

At  seven  o'clock  that  evening  Cerizet  bought  the 
printing-house  and  paid  for  it,  keeping  back  the  rent  of 
the  last  three  months.  The  next  da}'  Eve  remitted 
forty  thousand  francs  to  the  Receiver-General  to  pur- 
chase funds  in  her  husband's  name,  yielding  two  thou- 
sand five  hundred  francs  a  year.  Then  she  wrote  to 
her  father-in-law  asking  him  to  find  her  a  little  estate 
near  Marsac  worth  about  ten  thousand  francs,  in  which 
to  invest  her  personal  propert}'. 

The  scheme  of  the  tall  Cointet  was  formidably  sim- 
ple. At  the  start,  he  believed  David's  idea  of  sizing 
the  pulp  in  the  vat  to  be  impracticable.  The  mixture 
of  vegetable  matters  of  little  cost  with  the  pulp  of  rags 
seemed  to  him  the  true  and  only  merit  of  the  invention. 
He  therefore  intended  to  make  very  little  of  the  cheap- 
ness of  the  pulp  and  enormousl}'  much  of  the  sizing  in 
the  vat.  Let  us  explain  wh}".  Tlie  manufacturers  of 
Angouleme  (paper  being  the  chief  product  of  the  town) 
were  then  making,  almost  exclusivel}-,  those  writing- 
papers  wliich  go  b}'  the  names  of  crown  or  copy,  note, 
school,  and  demy-post  paper,  all  of  wliich  are  glazed. 
These  had  long  been  the  glory  of  the  Angouleme 
paper-mills.     Therefore,  this  specialty,  monopolized  by 


Lost  Illusions.  407 

the  Angoiileme  manufacturers  for  vcr}'  many  years,  was 
reason  enough  for  the  view  Cointet  took  of  the  matter; 
glazed,  that  is,  sized  paper,  did  not,  as  we  shall  see, 
enter  into  his  calculations.  The  demand  for  writing- 
paper  is  limited,  whereas  that  for  printing-pai)er  is 
almost  unlimited.  During  the  journey  which  he  made 
to  Paris  to  take  out  the  patent,  Boniface  Cointet  ar- 
ranged certain  business  matters  which  enabled  him  to 
make  great  changes  in  his  modes  of  manufacture.  He 
stayed  at  Metivier's ;  and  to  him  Cointet  gave  direc- 
tions to  get  away  the  custom  of  the  newspapers  from  his 
rival  paper  makers  in  the  course  of  the  coming  3'ear, 
by  putting  the  price  of  the  ream  so  low  that  no  manu- 
factory could  compete  with  it ;  and  to  promise  each 
journal  a  paper  superior  in  qualit}'  and  whiteness  to  the 
finest  sorts  hitherto  used.  As  contracts  with  journals 
are  always  made  for  periods  of  time,  it  would  take  some 
months  of  subterraneous  toil  to  obtain  this  monopolj' ; 
but  Cointet  calculated  that  he  would  gain  time  to  get 
rid  of  Sechard  altogether,  while  Me'tivier  was  making 
arrangements  with  the  Parisian  newspapers,  who  were 
at  that  time  consuming  some  two  hundred  reams  a  day. 
Cointet  naturallv  allowed  Metivier  a  certain  percentage 
on  these  contracts,  so  as  to  have  an  able  representative 
'in  the  Paris  market  and  not  lose  his  own  time  and 
money  in  going  there.  Metivier's  subsequent  fortune, 
which  was  one  of  the  largest  ever  made  in  the  paper 
business,  had  its  origin  in  this  affair.  For  ten  years  he 
controlled,  without  a  possible  rival,  the  paper  supply  of 
the  Parisian  journals. 

Eas}'  as   to  his  future   market,   Cointet  returned   to 
Angouleme  in  time  to  be  present  at  Petit-Claud's  mar- 


408  Lost  Illusions. 

riage.  The  lawTer  had  sold  his  practice  and  was  now 
awaiting  the  transference  of  Monsieur  Milaud  to 
Angers  to  step  into  iiis  place,  which  had  been  promised 
to  Petit-Claud  through  the  influence  of  the  Comtesse  du 
Chatelet.  The  second  assistant ^7-oct^rewr  du  roi  at  An- 
gouleme  was  appointed  first  assistant  at  Limoges,  and 
the  Keeper  of  the  Seals  sent  a  protege  of  his  own  to  the 
court  of  Angouleme,  where  the  post  of  first  assistant 
remained  vacant  for  two  months.  This  was  the  period 
of  Petit-Claud's  hone3'moon. 

While  the  tall  Cointet  was  in  Paris,  ostensibly  to 
secure  the  patent,  David  made,  as  a  preliminary,  a  first 
vat-ful  of  unglazed  pulp,  which  produced  a  printing- 
paper  far  superior  to  an}'  that  the  newspapers  were 
using.  Next  he  made  a  second  paper  called  ^'  vellum," 
of  the  finest  qualit}-,  intended  for  engravings,  and  this 
was  used  b\'  the  Cointets  themselves  for  an  edition  of 
the  diocesan  pra3'er-book.  Tlie  materials  had  been 
prepared  b}'  David  in  secret,  with  no  other  assistants 
than  Kolb  and  Marion. 

On  the  return  of  Boniface  Cointet  a  total  change  came 
over  the  face  of  things.  He  looked  at  the  papers  just 
made  and  was  none  too  well  satisfied. 

"  M}-  dear  friend,"  he  said  to  David,  ''the  true  busi- 
ness of  Angouleme  is  in  writing-paper ;  the  very  first- 
thing  to  be  done  is  to  make  the  finest  possible  demy- 
post  for  fifty  per  cent  below  the  present  net  cost." 

David  tlien  tried  to  make  a  vat  full  of  sized  pulp,  and 
obtained  a  paper  as  rough  as  a  brush,  in  wliich  the  siz- 
ing granulated  in  lumps.  The  day  of  this  experiment, 
when  David  held  the  paper  in  his  hand,  he  went  apart 
by  himself  to  swallow   his   grief;  but  the  tall  Cointet 


Lost  Illusions.  409 

sought  him  out  and  was  charming!}-  amiable  and  con- 
soling. 

^'  Don't  be  discouraged,'"  he  said.  "  Go  on  !  I  'm  a 
good  fellow  ;  I  understand  the  matter,  and  I  'II  stand  by 
you  to  the  end." 

'^  After  all,"  said  David  to  his  wife,  when  he  went 
home  to  dinner,  ''  we  are  in  the  hands  of  good  people, 
though  I  never  should  have  supposed  the  tall  Cointet 
could  be  so  generous."  And  he  related  his  conversation 
with  his  wih'  partner. 

Three  months  went  by  in  experiments.  David  slept 
at  the  manufactory ;  he  observed  the  results  of  the 
various  compositions  of  his  pulp.  Sometimes  he  attrib- 
uted his  want  of  success  to  the  mixture  of  rags  with  his 
other  ingredients,  and  then  he  tried  a  vat  full  of  those 
ingredients  alone.  Sometimes  he  tried  to  size  a  pulp 
made  of  nothing  but  rags.  AVliile  pursuing  his  work 
with  wonderful  perseverance,  and  under  the  very  eyes 
of  Boniface  Cointet  (whom  he  no  longer,  poor  soul ! 
distrusted),  he  went  from  material  to  material  until,  at 
last,  the  whole  series  of  ingredients  was  exhausted,  and 
he  had  mixed  them  in  turn  with  everj-  variety  of  size. 
During  the  first  six  months  of  the  year  1823  David 
Sechard  lived  in  the  factory  with  Kolb,  —  if  it  can  be 
called  living  to  neglect  his  food  and  clotliing  and  per- 
son. He  fought  so  desperately  with  his  ditficulties  that 
to  an}'  man  but  Cointet  the  spectacle  would  have  seemed 
sublime  ;  for  no  thought  of  self-interest  entered  the 
mind  of  the  brave  fighter.  There  came  a  time  when  he 
desired  success  for  its  own  sake  onl}-.  He  watched  with 
marvellous  sagacit}-  the  capricious  effects  of  substances 
transformed  by  man  into  products  to  suit  his  purposes, 


410  Lost  Illusions. 

where  nature  is,  as  it  were,  quelled  in  its  secret  resist- 
ance ;  from  this  he  deduced  great  laws  for  industry, 
observing  that  such  creations  cannot  be  obtained  ex- 
cept b}'  conforming  to  the  ulterior  relations  of  things, 
and  to  what  he  called  the  second  nature  of  substances. 

At  last,  in  the  month  of  August,  he  obtained  a  paper, 
sized  in  the  vat,  precisely  like  that  which  all  paper-mills 
are  making  at  the  ])resent  day  for  use  as  "  proof  paper"  in 
printing-houses,  but  in  which  there  is  no  certain  uniform- 
it3%  for  the  sizing  can  never  be  relied  on.  This  result  (a 
fine  thing  in  1823,  when  we  consider  the  then  condition  of 
paper-making)  had  cost  ten  thousand  francs,  and  David 
now  hoped  to  solve  the  last  difficulties  of  his  problem. 
But  about  this  time  a  sinsjular  rumor  began  to  be  current 
in  Angouleme  and  I'Houmeau :  it  was  said  that  David 
Sechard  was  ruining  the  Cointets.  After  wasting  thirty 
thousand  francs  in  experiments  he  had  obtained,  so  it 
was  said,  a  worthless  paper.  The  other  manufacturers 
and  those  who  were  jealous  of  the  Cointets  talked  of 
the  possible  failure  of  that  ambitious  house.  The  tall 
Cointet  set  up  new  machiner}'  and  let  it  be  supposed 
that  this  was  necessary  for  David's  experiments.  But 
the  Jesuit  used  it  to  make  a  paper  with  David's  ingre- 
dients without  sizing,  all  the  while  urging  the  latter  to 
give  his  whole  mind  to  the  one  thing  required,  namely, 
sizing  the  pulp.  Meantime  he  was  des[>atching  to 
Metivier  thousands  of  reams  of  printing-i)aper  for  the 
journals. 

In  September  Boniface  Cointet  took  David  aside,  and 
after  hearing  from  him  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  mak- 
ing a  trium[)hant  experiment,  he  dissuaded  him  from 
continuing  the  struggle. 


Lost  Illusions.  411 

**  My  clear  David,  go  to  Marsac  and  see  your  wife 
and  take  a  rest  from  all  this  toil ;  we  don't  want  to  ruin 
ourselves,"  tie  said,  in  a  IViendlv  wa}*.  '*  What  you 
regard  as  a  great  triumph  is  only  a  point  of  departure. 
We  will  wait  now  before  attempting  further  exi)eriments. 
Be  reasonable  ;  look  at  results.  We  are  not  only  paper- 
makers,  we  arc  also  printers  and  bankers ;  the  public 
thinks  you  are  ruining  us  (David  made  a  beautifull}' 
ingenuous  gesture,  protesting  his  loyalt}-).  I  don't 
mean  that>  fifty  thousand  francs  thrown  away  could  ruin 
us,"'  continued  Cointet ;  "  but  we  are  afraid  of  being 
obliged  in  consequence  of  this  rumor  to  pay  our  obliga- 
tions in  ready  money,  and  that  would  embarrass  us.  It 
is  better  to  pause  now.  We  are  near  the  limit  agreed 
on  in  the  deed ;  and  we  ought  each  to  think  the  matter 
over." 

"  He  is  right,"  thought  David,  who,  completely  ab- 
sorbed in  his  experiments,  had  paid  no  heed  to  what 
had  been  taking  place  in  the  manufactory. 

He  returned  to  Marsac,  where,  for  the  last  six  months 
he  had  gone  every  Saturday  evening  to  see  Eve,  returning 
to  the  factory  Tuesdav  morning.  W^ell-advised  by  old 
Sechard,  Eve  had  bought,  exacth'  in  front  of  her  father- 
in-law's  vineyard,  a  house  called  La  Verberie,  with  three 
acres  of  garden  and  a  vineyard,  surrounded  on  three 
sides  by  that  of  the  old  man.  She  lived  there  with  her 
mother  and  Marion  very  economically,  for  she  still  owed 
five  thousand  francs  on  the  purchase  of  this  charming 
little  property,  the  prettiest  in  Marsac.  The  house, 
standing  between  a  courtyard  and  the  garden,  was  built 
of  white  sand-stone,  roofed  with  slate,  and  ornamented 
with  carvings,  which  are  not  ver\-  costl}',  owing  to  the 


412  Lost  Illusions. 

ease  with  which  the  soft  stone  can  be  cut.  The  prett}' 
furniture  from  Angouleme  seemed  prettier  still  in  the 
countr}',  where  no  one  as  3'et  displa3'ed  any  luxurj'.  In 
front  of  the  house  on  the  garden  side  vrere  rows  of 
pomegranates,  oranges,  and  other  rare  plants  wliich  the 
former  proprietor,  an  old  general  now  dead,  cultivated 
himself.  It  was  under  an  orange  tree  where  David  was 
placing  with  his  wife  and  boy  that  the  sheriff  of  Mansle 
brought  a  summons  from  the  Brothers  Cointet  to  their 
partner  to  select  referees,  before  whom,  according  to  the 
terms  of  the  deed  of  partnership,  the  settlement  of  their 
mutual  claims  was  to  be  brought.  Old  Sechard  was 
present.  The  Brothers  Cointet  demanded  the  restitu- 
tion of  the  six  thousand  francs  formerl}'  advanced,  also 
the  sole  right  to  the  patent,  and  the  future  profits  that 
might  accrue  therefrom,  as  indemnity  for  the  exorbitant 
expenses  incurred  by  them  without  result. 

"  People  say  you've  ruined  them,"  said  old  Sechard, 
to  his  son.  "  That 's  the  only  thing  you  have  ever  done 
that  pleases  me." 

The  next  day  at  nine  o'clock  Eve  and  David  were 
in  the  antechamber  of  Monsieur  Petit-Claud,  now  pro- 
moted to  be  the  defender  of  wives  and  the  guardian  of 
orphans,  whose  advice  seemed  to  them  the  onl}-  one  to 
follow.  The  new  magistrate  received  them  warmly  and 
insisted  that  Monsieur  and  INIadame  Sechard  should 
give  him  the  pleasure  of  breaivfasting  with  him. 

"The  Cointets  claim  that  six  thousand  francs!  "  he 
exclaimed.  "  How  much  do  3'ou  still  owe  for  La 
Verberie?" 

"  Five  thousand,"  said  Eve,  "  but  I  have  laid  by  two 
thousand  of  it." 


Lost  Illusions.  413 

*' Keep  your  two  thousand,"  replied  Petit  Claud. 
"  Let  me  see,  five  thousand !  Then  you  want  ten  thou- 
sand more  to  make  you  perfectly  comfortal)le  down 
there.  AVell,  in  two  hours  the  Cointets  shall  give  you 
fifteen  thousand  francs  —  " 

Eve  made  a  gesture  of  surprise. 

"  —  against  your  renunciation  of  all  the  profits  from 
that  deed  of  partnership,  which  you  will  agree  to  dis- 
solve amicabl}',"  said  the  magistrate.  '^  Will  that  suit 
you  ?  -' 

"  Will  the  money  be  legally  ours?  "  said  Eve. 

"  Yes,  legally,"  replied  the  magistrate,  smiling.  '•  The 
Cointets  have  caused  you  sorrow  enough,  and  I  am  go- 
ing to  put  an  end  to  their  claims.  Listen  :  I  am  now  a 
magistrate,  and  I  owe  you  the  truth.  Well,  the  Cointets 
are  even  now  deceiving  you  ;  but  you  are  completely  in 
their  hands.  You  might  possibly  win  the  suit  they 
would  bring  against  \'OU  if  3'ou  declare  war.  But  do  you 
want  ten  years  of  litigation?  They  will  multiply  ex- 
perts and  arbitrations,  and  you  will  be  at  the  mercy  of 
contradictory  judgments.  And,"  he  added,  smiling^ 
"  I  don't  see  any  lawyer  here  to  defend  you  ;  my  suc- 
cessor is  of  no  account.  Come,  don't  3'ou  think  a  bad 
settlement  now  is  better  than  a  good  cause  won  ten 
years  hence  ?  " 

"  Any  settlement  that  gives  us  peace  of  mind  will  be 
good,"  said  David. 

"Paul!"  cried  Petit-Claud,  to  his  valet,  "go  and 
fetch  Monsieur  Segaud,  my  successor.  AVhile  we 
breakfast  Se'gaud  will  see  the  Cointets,''  he  said  to  his 
old  clients,  •'  and  in  a  few  hours  you  shall  go  back  to 
Marsac  ruined,  but  in  peace.    With  ten  thousand  fi'ancs 


414  Lost  Illusions. 

3'ou  can  buy  another  five  hundred  francs  a  3'ear,  and  on 
that  prett}'  little  estate  of  yours  at  La  Verberie  you  will 
live  happily." 

At  the  end  of  two  hours  Maitre  Segaud  returned, 
bringing,  as  Petit-Claud  said  he  would,  all  the  neccs- 
sarj'  papers  signed  in  proper  form  hy  the  Brothers 
Cointet,  and  fifteen  banknotes  of  a  thousand  francs 
each. 

"  We  owe  a  great  deal  to  you,"  said  David  to  Petit- 
Claud. 

"  But  I  have  just  ruined  you,"  replied  Petit-Claud  to 
his  astonished  clients.  "  I  have  ruined  you  ;  I  repeat 
it,  and  you  will  see  it  in  time.  But  I  know  3'ou ;  you 
would  prefer  your  present  ruin  to  the  possession  of  a 
fortune  which  might  come  too  late." 

"We  are  not  seeking  money,  monsieur;  and  we 
thank  3-ou  for  giving  us  the  means  of  happiness,"  said 
Madame  Eve.     "  You  will  find  us  forever  grateful." 

"  Good  God  !  don't  bless  me  !  "  cried  Petit-Claud, 
"you  fill  me  with  remorse  —  but  I  do  think  I  have  to- 
day repaired  all.  If  I  am  now  a  magistrate  it  is  thanks 
to  3'ou  ;  if  an}'  one  should  be  grateful,  it  is  I.     Adieu." 

In  March,  1829,  old  Sechard  died,  leaving  about  two 
hundred  thousand  francs'  worth  of  landed  property, 
which,  joined  to  La  Verberie,  made  a  fine  estate.  For 
two  years  before  the  old  man's  death  Kolb  had  man- 
aged it  for  him  very  well.  In  course  of  time  the 
Alsacian  had  changed  his  opinion  of  the  old  bear,  who 
on  his  side  took  Kolb  to  his  heart,  finding  that,  like 
himself,  he  could  neither  read  nor  write  and  was  easily 
made  drunk.  He  taught  him  to  manage  a  vineyard 
and  sell  the  products ;  he  formed  him  with  the  idea,  so 


Lost  Illusions.  415 

he  saitl,  of  leaving  a  man  with  some  head  to  look  after 
his  children ;  for  ia  his  last  days  his  fears  were  great 
and  puerile  as  to  the  fate  of  his  worldly  goods.  He 
took  Courtois,  the  miller,  into  his  confidence.  '*  You'll 
see,"  he  said,  *'  how  things  will  go  with  m}"  children 
when  I'm  underground.  Their  future  makes  me 
tremble." 

David  and  his  wife  found  nearly  three  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  in  gold  in  their  father's  house.  Public 
rumor,  as  usual,  so  magnified  the  old  man's  wealth  tliat 
he  was  believed  throughout  the  department  to  have  left 
a  million.  Eve  and  David  had  an  income  of  about 
thirty  thousand  francs,  counting  their  own  little  fortune  ; 
for  they  waited  some  time  before  investing  the  gold, 
so  that  they  were  able  to  place  it  to  advantage  in  gov- 
ernment funds  after  the  Revolution  of  July. 

Then,  and  not  till  then,  did  David  Sechard  and  the 
community  know  the  truth  about  the  prosperity  of  the 
tall  Cointet.  Rich  by  many  millions,  elected  deputy, 
Boniface  Cointet  is  now  a  peer  of  France,  and  will  be, 
they  say,  Minister  of  Commerce  in  the  approaching 
coalition.  In  1842  he  married  the  daughter  of  one  of  the 
most  influential  statesmen  of  the  Orleans  dynast}-,  Made- 
moiselle Popinot,  daughter  of  Monsieur  Anselme  Pop- 
inot,  deputy  of  Paris  and  mayor  of  an  arrondissement. 

David  Sechard's  discovery  has  passed  into  French 
manufactures  as  food  into  a  body.  Thanks  to  the  in- 
troduction of  other  material  than  rags,  France  manu- 
factures paper  cheaper  than  any  other  European  nation. 
Holland  paper,  as  David  foresaw,  no  longer  exists. 
Sooner  or  later  it  will  be  necessary,  no  doubt,  to  estab- 
lish  a  royal   manufactory  of  paper,   like  those  of  the 


416  Lost  Illusions. 

Gobelins,  Sevres,  la  Savonnerie,  and  the  ImprimGrie 
Ro3'ale,  which  have  so  far  withstood  the  attacks  of  the 
bourgeois  vandals. 

David  Sechard,  loved  by  his  wife,  the  father  of  two 
children,  has  had  the  good  taste  never  to  speak  of  his 
experiments.  Eve  has  been  able  to  make  him  renounce 
forever  the  terrible  vocation  of  an  inventor  —  that 
Moses  drunken  with  the  drink  of  Horeb.  He  cultivates 
letters  for  amusement  and  leads  the  happ}-  and 
lazil}'  bus}^  life  of  a  landowner  improving  his  propertv. 
After  bidding  a  long  and  irrevocable  farewell  to  the 
hope  of  fame,  he  has  bravel}-  entered  the  class  of 
dreamers  and  collectors ;  he  is  devoted  to  entomology, 
and  studies  the  transformations  of  insects  ;  which  are 
still  so  secret  that  science  knows  them  onh'  in  their 
final  state. 

Ever3'bod3^  has  heard  of  the  successes  of  Petit-CLiud 
as  procureur-general  ;  he  is  the  rival  of  the  fiimous 
Vinet  of  Provins,  and  his  ambition  is  to  become  chief- 
justice  of  the  Royal  Court  of  Poitiers. 

Cerizet,  who  has  often  been  condemned  for  political 
misdemeanors,  has  made  liimself  much  talked  about. 
Having  been  forced  by  Petit-Claud's  successor  to  sell 
the  printing-house  in  Angouleme,  he  suddenl}'  took  to 
the  stage,  and  began  a  new  life  on  the  provincial  boards, 
which  his  native  talent  for  acting  made  a  brilliant  one. 
Circumstances  having  taken  him  to  Paris  he  has  cur- 
ried favor  with  the  Liberal  party ;  being  among  the 
boldest  of  the  scapegraces  of  that  party  he  is  known  b}^ 
the  name  of  the  Brave  Cerizet. 

THE     END. 


-A  ^ 


Balzac  in  English. 


PIERRETTE 

AND 

Thh   Vicar    ok    Tours. 

BY    HOXORE    DE    BALZAC. 
Translated  by  Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley. 


In  Pierrette,  which  Miss  Wormeley  has  added  to  her  series  of  felicitous 
translations  from  the  French  master-fictionists,  Balzac  has  made  within 
brief  compass  a  marvellously  sympathetic  study  of  the  martyrdom  of  a 
young  girl.  Pierrette,  a  flower  of  Brittany,  beautiful,  pale,  and  fair  and 
sweet,  is  taken  as  an  undesired  charge  by  sordid-minded  cousins  in  Pro- 
vins,  and  like  an  exotic  transplanted  into  a  liarsh  and  sour  soil  she  withers 
and  fades  under  the  cruel  conditions  of  her  new  environment.  Inciden- 
tally Balzac  depicts  in  vivid  colors  the  struggles  of  two  shop-keepers  —  a 
brother  and  sister,  who  have  amassed  a  little  fortune  in  Paris  —  to  gain  a 
foothold  among  the  bourgeoisie  of  their  native  town,  Tiicse  two  become 
the  prey  of  conspirators  for  political  advancement,  and  the  rivalries  thus 
engendered  shake  the  small  provincial  society  to  its  centre.  But  the 
charm  of  the  tale  is  in  the  portrayal  of  the  character  of  Pierrette,  who 
understands  only  how  to  love,  and  who  cannot  live  in  an  atmosphere  of 
suspicion  and  ill-treatment.  The  story  is  of  course  sad,  but  its  fidelity  to 
life  and  the  pathos  of  it  are  elements  of  unfailing  interest.  Balzac  brings 
a  score  or  more  of  people  upon  the  stage,  shows  each  one  as  he  or  she 
really  is  both  in  outward  appearance  and  inward  nature,  and  then  allows 
motives  and  circumstances  to  work  out  an  inevitable  result.  To  watch 
this  process  is  like  being  present  at  some  wonderful  chemical  experiment 
where  the  ingredients  are  mixed  with  a  deft  and  careful  hand,  and  combine 
to  produce  effects  of  astonishing  significance.  The  social  genesis  of  the 
old  maid  in  her  most  abhorrent  form  occupies  much  of  Balzac's  attention 
in  Pierrette,  and  this  theme  also  has  a  place  in  the  story  of  The  Vicar  of 
Totirs,  bound  up  in  this  same  volume.  The  vicar  is  a  simple-minded 
priest  who  is  happy  enough  till  he  takes  up  his  quarters  with  an  old  maid 
landlady,  who  pesters  and  annoys  him  in  many  ways,  and  finally  sends  him 
forth  despoiled  of  his  worldly  goods  and  a  laughing-stock  for  the  country- 
side. There  is  a  great  deal  o^  humor  in  the  tale,  but  one  must  confess 
that  the  humor  is  of  a  rather  heavy  sort,  it  being  weighed  down  by  a  domi- 
nant satirical  purpose.  —  The  Beacon. 

One  handsome  i2mo  volume,  uniform  with  "Fere  Goriot." 
"  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,"  "  Cesar  Birotteau,"  "  Eugenie 
Grandet,"  "  Cousin  Pons,"  "  The  Country  Doctor,"  "  The  Two 
Brothers,"  and  "  The  Alkahest."  Half  morocco,  French  style. 
Price,  $1.50. 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 


Balzac  in  English. 


Albert    Savarus,    with    Paz   (La    Fausse 
Maitresse)  and   Madame  Firmiani.    By 

HoNORE  DE  Balzac.     Translated   by  Katharine  Prescott 
Wormeley. 

There  is  much  in  this,  one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  his  books, 
which  is  synonymous  with  Balzac's  own  life.  It  is  the  story  of  a  man's 
first  love  for  woman,  his  inspirer,  the  source  from  whom  he  derives 
his  power  of  action.  It  also  contains  many  details  on  his  habits  of 
life  and  work. 

The  three  short  stories  in  this  vohime, —  '  Albert  Savarus,'  'Paz'  and  'Madame 
Firmiani' — are  chips  from  that  astounding  workshop  which  never  ceased  its  Hephoes- 
tian  labors  and  products  until  Balzac  was  no  more  Short  stories  of  this  character 
flew  from  his  glowing  forge  like  sparks  from  an  anvil,  the  playthings  of  anidle  hour, 
the  interludes  of  a  more  vivid  drama.  Three  of  them  gathered  here  illustrate  as 
usual  Parisian  and  provincial  life,  two  in  a  very  noble  fashion,  Balzacian  to  the  core. 
The  third  — '  Albert  Savarus' — has  many  elements  of  tragedy  and  grandeur  in  it, 
spoiled  only  by  an  abruptness  in  the  conclusion  and  an  accumulation  of  unnecessary 
horrors  that  chill  the  reader.     It  is  a  block  of  tragic  marble  hewn,  not  to  a  finish,  but 

to  a  fine  prophetic  suggestion  of  what  is  to  follow  if !     The  if  never  emerges 

from  conditionality  to" fulfilment.  The  beautiful  lines  and  sinuous  curves  of  the 
nascent  statue  are  there,  not  fully  born  of  the  encasing  stone  ;  what  sculptors  call  the 
'tenons'  show  in  all  their  visibility —  the  supports  and  scaffoldings  reveal  their 
presence  ;  the  forefront  is  finished  as  in  a  Greek  metope  or  Olympian  tympanum, 
where  broken  Lapiths  and  Centaurs  disport  themselves;  but  the  background  is  rude 
and  primitive 

In  '  Madame  Firmiani'  a  few  brilliant  pages  suffice  to  a  perfect  picture, —  one  of 
the  few  spotless  pictures  of  this  superb  yet  sinning  magician  so  rich  in  pictures.  It  is 
French  nature  that  Balzac  depicts,  warm  with  all  the  physical  impulses,  undisguised 
in  its  assaults  on  the  soul,  ingeniously  sensual,  odiously  loose  in  its  views  of  marriage 
and  the  marriage  relation,  but  splendidly  picturesque  In  this  brief  romance  noble 
words  are  wedded  to  noble  music.  In  'Paz'  an  almost  equal  nobiliiy  of  thought  — 
the  nobility  of  self-renunciation — is  attained.  Balzac  endows  his  men  and  women 
with  happy  millions  and  unhappy  natures:  the  red  ruby  — the  broken  heart  — blazes 
in  a  setting  of  gold.  '  Paz,'  the  sublime  Pole  who  loves  the  wife  of  his  best  friend, 
a  Slav  Croesus,  is  no  exception  to  the  rule.  The  richest  rhetoric,  the  sunniest  colors, 
fail  to  counteract  the  Acherontian  gloom  of  these  lives  and  sorrows  snatched  from  the 
cauldron  of  urban  and  rural  France, — a  cauldron  that  burns  hotter  than  any  other 
with  its  strange  Roman  and  Celtic  ardors.  Balzac  was  perpetually  dipping  into  it  and 
drawing  from  it  the  wonderful  and  extraordinary  incidents  of  his  novels,  incidents  often 
monstrous  in  their  untruth  if  looked  at  from  any  other  than  a  French  point  of  view. 
Thus,  the  devilish  ingenuity  of  the  jealous  woman  in  '  Albert  Savarus'  would  seetn 
unnatural  anywhere  else  than  in  the  sombre  French  provinces  of  1836, —  a  toadstool 
sprung  up  in  the  rank  moonlight  of  the  religious  conventual  system  of  education  for 
women  ;  but  there,  and  then,  and  as  one  re-^ult  of  this  system  of  repression,  it 
seems  perfectly  natural.  And  so  does  the  beautiful  self-abnegation  of  Albert  himself, 
that  high  strung  soul  that  could  have  been  born  only  in  nervous  and  passionate 
France. 

As  usual.  Miss  Wormeley's  charming  translation  floats  the  reader  over  these 
pages  in  the  swiftest  and  airiest  manner.  —  The  Critic. 

One  handsome  i2mo  volume,  uniform  with  "  Pere  Goriot,"  "  The 
Duchesse  de  Langeais,"  "  Cesar  liirotteau,"  "  Eugenie  Grandet," 
*'  Cousin  Pons,"  "  The  Country  Doctor,"  "  The  Two  Brothers,"  and 
"The  Alkahest."     Half  morocco,  French  style.     Price,  ^1.50. 


ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  Pui?lishers,  Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  HONORE  OE  BALZAC, 


Compiled  and  written  by  Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley,  translator 
of  Balzac's  works.  With  portrait  of  Balzac,  taken  one  hour  after 
death,  by  Eugene  Giraud,  and  a  Sketch  of  the  Prison  of  the  College 
de  Vendome.  One  volume,  lamo.  Half  Russia,  uniform  with  our 
edition  of  Balzac's  works.     Price,  3ioO. 

A  complete  life  of  Balzac  cap  probably  never  be  written.  The  sole  object  of 
the  present  volume  is  to  present  Bdlzac  to  American  readers.  This  memoir  is 
meant  to  be  a  presentation  of  the  man,  —  and  not  of  his  work,  except  as  it  was  a 
part  of  himself,  —  derived  from  authentic  sources  of  information,  and  presented  in 
their  own  words,  with  such  simple  elucidations  as  a  close  intercourse  with  Balzac's 
mind,  necessitated  by  conscientious  translation,  naturally  gives.  The  portrait 
in  this  volume  was  considered  by  Madame  de  Balzac  the  best  likeness  of  her 
husband. 

Miss  Wormeley's  discussion  of  the  subject  is  of  value  in  many  ways,  and  it  has 
long  been  needed  as  a  help  to  comprehension  of  liis  life  and  character.  Person- 
ally, he  lived  up  to  his  theory.  His  life  was  in  fact  austere.  Any  detailed  ac- 
count of  the  conditions  under  which  he  worked,  such  as  are  given  in  this  volume, 
will  show  that  this  must  have  been  the  case ;  and  the  fact  strongly  reinforces  the 
doctrine.  Miss  Wormeley,  in  arranging  her  account  of  his  career,  has,  almost 
of  necessity,  made  free  use  of  the  letters  and  memoir  published  by  Balzac's  sister, 
Madame  Surville.  She  has  also,  whenever  it  would  serve  the  purpose  of  illus- 
tration better,  quoted  from  the  sketches  of  him  by  his  contemporaries,  wisely 
rejecting  the  trivialities  and  frivolities  by  the  exaggeration  of  which  many  of  his 
first  chroniclers  seemed  bent  upon  giving  the  great  author  a  kind  of  opera-bouffe 
aspect.  To  judge  from  some  of  these  accounts,  he  was  flighty,  irresponsible, 
possibly  a  little  mad,  prone  to  lose  touch  of  actualities  by  the  dominance  of  his 
imagination,  fond  of  wild  and  impracticable  schemes,  and  altocether  an  eccentric 
and  unstable  person.  But  it  is  not  difficult  to  prove  that  Balzac  was  quite  a 
different  character ;  that  he  possessed  a  marvellous  power  of  intellectual  organi- 
zation ;  that  he  was  the  most  methodical  and  indefatigable  of  workers ;  that  he 
was  a  man  of  a  most  delicate  sense  of  honor;  that  his  life  was  not  simply  de- 
voted to  literary  ambition,  but  was  a  martyrdom  to  obligations  which  weie  his 
misfortune,  but  not  his  fault. 

All  this  Miss  Wormley  has  well  set  forth  ;  and  in  doing  so  she  has  certainly 
relieved  Balzac  of  much  unmerited  odium,  and  has  enabled  those  who  have  not 
made  a  study  of  his  character  and  work  to  understand  how  high  the  place  is  in 
any  estimate  of  the  helpers  of  modern  progress  and  enlightenment  to  which  his 
genius  and  the  loftiness  of  his  aims  entitle  him.  This  memoir  is  a  very  modest 
biography,  though  a  very  good  one.  The  author  has  effaced  herself  as  much  as 
possible,  and  has  relied  upon  "documents"  whenever  they  were  trustworthy. — 
N.  Y.  Tribu7ie. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  postpaid^  on  receipt  of 
price,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  Boston. 


BALZAC  IN  ENGLISH. 


An  Historical  Mystery. 

Translated  by  KATHARLNE  PRESCOTT  WORMELEY. 
12mo.    Half  Russia.    Uniform  with  Balzac's  Works.    Price,  $1.50. 


An  Historical  Mystery  is  the  title  given  to  ''  Una  Tenebreuse  Affaire,"  which 
has  just  appeared  in  the  series  of  translations  of  Honoie  de  Balzac's  novels,  by 
Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley  This  exciting  romance  is  full  of  stirring  interest, 
and  is  distinguished  by  that  minute  analysis  of  character  in  which  its  eminent 
author  excelled.  The  characters  stand  boldly  out  from  the  surrounding  incidents, 
and  with  a  fidelity  as  wonderful  as  it  is  truthful.  Plot  and  counterplot  follow 
each  other  with  marvellous  rapidity;  and  around  the  exciting  days  when  Na- 
poleon was  First  Consul,  and  afterward  when  he  was  Emperor,  a  mystery  is 
woven  in  which  some  royalists  are  concerned  that  is  concealed  with  masterly 
ingenuity  until  the  novelist  sees  fit  to  take  his  reader  into  his  confidence.  The 
heroine,  Laurence,  is  a  remarkably  strong  character;  and  the  love-story  in  which 
she  figures  is  refreshing  in  its  departure  from  the  beaten  path  of  the  ordinary 
writer  of  fiction.  Michu,  her  devoted  servant,  has  also  a  marked  individuality, 
which  leaves  a  lasting  impression.  Napoleon,  Talleyrand,  Fouche,  and  other 
historical  personages,  appear  in  the  tale  in  a  manner  that  is  at  once  natural  and 
impressive.  As  an  addition  to  a  remarkable  series,  the  book  is  one  that  no 
admirer  of  Balzac  can  afford  to  neglect.  Miss  Wormeley's  translation  reproduces 
the  peculiarities  of  the  author's  style  with  the  faithfulness  for  which  she  has 
hitherto  been  ctXehr^ted.  —  Satrir day   Evem7i_^  Gazette. 

It  makes  very  interesting  reading  at  this  distance  of  time,  however;  and  Balzac 
has  given  to  the  legendary  account  much  of  the  solidity  of  history  bv  his  adroit 
manipulation.  For  the  main  story  it  must  be  said  that  the  action  is  swifter  and 
more  varied  than  in  many  of  the  author's  books,  and  that  there  are  not  wanting 
many  of  those  cameo-like  portraits  necessary  to  warn  the  reader  against  slovenly 
perusal  of  this  carefully  written  story;  for  the  comjilications  are  such,  and  the  re- 
lations between  the  several  plots  involved  so  intricate,  that  the  thread  might 
easily  be  lost  and  much  of  the  interest  be  thus  destroyed  The  usual  Balzac 
compactness  is  of  course  present  throughout,  to  give  body  and  significance  to  the 
work,  and  the  stage  is  crowded  \vith  impressive  figures.  It  would  be  impossible 
to  find  a  book  which  gives  a  better  or  more  faithful  illustration  of  one  of  the 
strangest  periods  in  F"rench  history,  in  short  ;  and  its  attraction  as  a  story  is  at 
least  equalled  by  its  value  as  a  true  picture  of  the  time  it  is  concerned  with.  The 
translation  is  as  spirited  and  close  as  Miss  Wormeley  has  taught  us  to  expect  in 
this  admirable  series.  —New  York  Tribune. 

One  of  the  most  intensely  interesting  novels  that  Balzac  ever  wrote  is  An 
Historical  Mystery,  whose  translation  has  just  been  added  to  the  preceding 
novels  that  compose  the  "  Comedie  Humaine"  so  admirably  translated  by  Miss 
Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley.  The  story  opens  in  the  autumn  of  1803,  in  the 
time  of  the  Empire,  and  the  motive  is  in  dtep-laid  jiohticai  plots,  which  are  re- 
vealed with  the  subtle  and  ingenious  skill  that  marks  the  art  of  Balzac.  .  .  The 
story  is  a  deep-laid  political  conspiracy  of  the  secret  service  of  the  ministry  of 
the  police.  Talleyrand,  M'lle  de  Cinq-Cvgne,  the  Princess  de  Cadigan,  Louis 
XVIII,  as  well  as  Napoleon,  figure  as  characters  of  this  thrilling  historic  ro- 
mance. An  absorbing  love-story  is  also  told,  in  which  State  intrigue  plays  an 
important  part.  The  character-drawing  is  faithful  to  history,  and  the  story  illu- 
minates French  life  in  the  early  years  of  the  century  as  if  a  calcium  light  were 
thrown  on  the  scene. 

It  IS  a  romance  of  remarkable  power^  and  one  of  the  most  deeply  fascinating 
of  all  the  novels  of  the  ''Comedie  Humaine." 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
Wice  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERrS    BROTHERS,    Boston. 


BALZAC    IN    ENGLISH. 

Kame   and   Sorrow, 

^ntj   ©t|)cr  Stories. 

TRANSLATED    I'.Y    KATHARINE    PRESCOTT   WORMELEY. 

i2mo.  Half  Russia.  Uniform  with  our  edition  of  Kalznc's 
Works.  Price,  $1.50.  In  addition  to  this  remarkable  story, 
the  volume  contains  the  following,  namely  :  "  Colonel  Chabert," 
"The  Atheist's  Mass,"  "  La  Grande  Breteche,"  "The  Purse,"  and 
"  La  Grenadiere." 

The  force  and  passion  of  the  stories  of  Balzac  are  unapproachable.  He  had 
th«  art  of  putting;  into  half  a  dozen  pages  all  the  fire  and  stress  wliich  many 
writers,  who  are  still  great,  cannot  compass  in  a  volume.  The  present  volume  is 
an  admirable  collection,  and  presents  we!!  his  power  of  handling  the  short  story. 
That  the  translation  is  excellent  need  hardly  be  said  —  Boston  Courier. 

The  six  stories,  admirably  translated  by  Miss  Wormeley,  afford  pood  examples 
of  Balzac's  work  in  what  not  a  few  critics  have  ihought  his  chief  specialty.  It  is 
certain  that  no  writer  of  many  novels  wrote  so  many  short  stories  as  he  ;  and  it  is 
equally  as  certain  that  his  short  stories  are,  almost  without  an  exception,  models 
of  what  such  compositions  out;ht  to  be.  .  .  No  modem  author,  however,  of  any 
school  whatever,  has  succeeded  in  producing  short  stories  half  so  good  as  Balzac's 
best.  Balzac  did  not,  indeed,  attempt  to  display  his  subtility  and  deftness  by 
writing  short  stories  about  nothing.  Every  one  of  his  tales  contains  an  episode, 
not  necessarily,  but  usually,  a  dramatic  episode  The  first  in  the  present  collec- 
tion, better  known  as  "  La  Maison  du  Chat-qui-pelote,"  is  really  a  short  novel. 
It  has  all  the  machinery,  all  the  interest,  all  the  detail  of  a  regular  story.  The 
difference  is  that  it  is  compressed  as  Balzac  only  could  compress:  that  here  and 
there  important  events,  changes,  etc.,  arc  indicated  in  a  few  powerful  lines  instead 
of  being  elaborated:  that  the  vital  points  are  thrown  into  strong  relief.  Take  the 
pathetic  story  of  "Colonel  Chabert"  It  begins  with  an  elaboration  of  detail. 
The  description  of  the  lawyer's  office  might  seem  to  some  too  minute.  But  it  is 
the  stage  upon  which  the  Colonel  is  to  appear,  and  when  he  enters  we  see  the 
value  of  the  preliminaries,  for  a  picture  is  presented  which  the  memon,-  seizes  and 
holds.  As  the  action  progresses,  detail  is  used  more  parsimoniously,  because  tha 
ntise-en-scene  has  alreadv  been  completed,  and  because,  also,  the  characters  once 
clearly  described,  the  development  of  character  and  the  working  of  passion  can 
be  indicated  with  a  few  pregnant  strokes.  Notwithstanding  this  increasing 
economy  of  space,  the  action  takes  on  a  swifter  intensity,  and  the  culmination  or 
the  tragedy  leaves  the  reader  breathless. 

In  "  The  Atheist  s  Mass  "  we  have  quite  a  new  kind  of  story  This  is  rather 
a  psychological  study  than  a  narrative  of  action.  Two  widely  distinguished  char- 
acters are  thrown  on  the  canvas  here,  —  that  of  the  great  surgeon  and  that  of  the 
humble  patron  :  and  one  knows  not  which  most  to  admire,  the  vigor  of  the 
drawing,  or  the  subtle  and  lucid  psychical  analysis.  In  both  there  is  rare  beauty  of 
soul,  and  perhaps,  after  all,  tlie  poor  Auvergnat  surpasses  the  eminent  surgeon, 
though  this  is  a  delicate  and  difficult  question.  But  how  complete  the  little  story 
is;  how  much  it  tells  ;  with  what  skill,  and  in  how  delightful  a  manner!  Then 
there  is  that  tremendous  haunting  legend  of  "  La  Grande  Breteche,"  a  story  which 
has  always  been  turned  into  more  languages  and  twisted  into  more  new  forms  than 
almost  any  other  of  its  kind  extant.  What  author  has  equalled  the  continuing 
horror  of  that  unfaithful  wife's  agony,  compelled  to  look  on  and  assist  at  the  slow 
murder  of  her  entrapped  lover?  .  .  Then  the  death  of  the  husband  and  wife,  — 
the  one  by  quick  and  fiercer  dissipation,  the  other  by  simple  refusal  to  live  longer, 
—  and  the  abandonment  of  the  accursed  dwelling  to  solitude  and  decay,  complete 
a  picture,  which  for  vividness,  emotional  force,  imaginative  power,  and  compre- 
hensiveness of  effects,  can  be  said  to  have  few  equals  in  its  own  class  of  fiction.  — 
Kansas  City  JourTtal. 

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BALZAC    IN    ENGLISH. 


SONS  OF  THE  SOIL. 

Translated  by  Katharine  Prescott  V/ormeley. 


Many  critics  have  regarded  "  Les  Paysans,"  to  which  Miss  Wormeley, 
in  her  admirable  translation,  has  given  the  title  "  Sons  of  the  Soil,"  as  one 
of  Balzac's  strongest  novels  ;  and  it  cannot  fail  to  impress  those  who  read 
this  English  rendering  of  it.  Fifty  or  sixty  years  ago  Balzac  made  a  pro- 
found study  of  the  effects  produced  by  the  Revolution  upon  the  peasants 
of  the  remote  provinces  of  France,  and  he  has  here  elaborated  these  obser- 
vations in  a  powerful  picture  of  one  of  those  strange,  disguised,  but  fero- 
cious social  wars  which  were  at  the  time  not  only  rendered  possible,  but 
promoted  by  three  potent  influences,  namely,  the  selfishness  of  the  rich 
landholders;  the  land-hunger  and  stimulated  greed  of  the  peasants;  and 
the  calculated  rapacity  of  middle-class  capitalists,  craftily  using  the  hatreds 
of  the  poor  to  forward  their  own  plots.  The  first  part  of  "  Les  Faysans  " 
(and  the  only  part  which  was  published  during  the  author's  hfe)  appeared 
under  a  title  taken  from  an  old  and  deeply  significant  proverb,  Qui  a  terre 
a  guerre, — "Who  has  land  has  war." 

It  is  the  account  of  a  guerilla  war  conducted  by  a  whole  country-side 
against  one  great  land-owner, — a  war  in  which,  moreover,  the  lawlesa 
aggressions  of  the  peasantry  are  prompted,  supported,  and  directed  by  an 
amazing  alliance  between  the  richest,  most  unscrupulous,  and  most  power 
ful  of  the  neighboring  provincial  magnates,  who,  by  controlling,  through 
family  council,  the  local  administration,  are  in  a  position  to  paralyze  resist- 
ance to  their  conspiracy.  The  working  out  of  this  deep  plot  affords  the 
author  opportunity  for  the  introduction  of  a  whole  gallery  of  marvelloui 
studies. 

It  is  perhaps  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  this  powerful  and  absorbing 
story  is  lifted  above  the  level  of  romance  by  the  unequalled  artistic  genius 
of  the  author,  and  that  it  is  at  times  almost  transformed  into  a  profound 
political  study  by  the  depth  and  acumen  of  his  suggestions  and  comments. 
Nor  should  it  be  requisite  to  point  out  analogies  with  territorial  conditions 
in  more  than  one  other  country,  which  lend  to  "  Les  Paysans  "  a  special 
interest  and  significance,  and  are  likely  to  prevent  it  from  becoming  obsolete 
for  a  long  time  to  come.  Of  the  translation  it  only  need  be  r.aid  that  it  is 
as  good  as  Miss  Wormeley  has  accustomed  us  to  expect,  and  that  means 
the  best  rendering  of  French  into  English  that  has  ever  been  done.  — 
New  York  Tribune. 


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BALZACS   PHILOSOPHICAL   NOVELS. 


THE  MAGIC  SKIN.— LOUIS  LAMBERT. 
— ^  SERAPH  ITA.c^ — 

TRANSLATED    BY 

KATHARINE     PRESCOTT     WORMELEY. 

WITH    AN    INTRODL'CTION    TO   EACH    NOVEL    BV 

GKORGE   FREDERIC    PARSONS. 

[From  Le  Livre,  Rcz-ue  du  Monde  LiUeraire,  Paris,  March,  18S9.] 
There  are  men  so  great  that  liumanity  passes  generations  of  existences  in 
measuring  them.  .  .  .  Certain  it  is  that  to-day  the  Frencli  Academy  makes  Bal- 
zac's work  the  theme  for  its  prize  of  eloquence,  that  the  great  writer  is  translated 
and  commented  upon  in  foreign  countries,  and  tiiat  in  Paris  and  even  at  Tours, 
his  native  place,  statues  are  in  process  of  being  erected  to  him.  .  .  .  But  the 
marble  of  M.  Chapus,  the  bronze  of  M.  Foumier,  —  Balzac  sad  or  Balzac  seated,  — 
are  of  little  consequence  to  the  glory  of  tlie  writer  standing  before  the  world,  who 
bore  a  world  in  his  brain  and  brought  it  forth,  who  was  at  once  the  Diderot  and 
the  Rabelais  of  this  century,  and  who,  above  and  beyond  their  fire,  their  imagina- 
tion, their  superabounding  life,  their  hilarious  spirit,  paradoxical  and  marvellously 
sagacious  as  it  was,  had  in  the  highest  degree  the  mystical  gift  of  intuition,  and  is 
able,  beyond  all  others,  to  open  to  us  illimitable  vistas  of  the  Unseen. 

It  is  this  side  of  Balzac's  genius  which  at  the  present  time  attracts  and  pre- 
occupies foreign  critics.  Mile  Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley  has  undertaken  to 
translate  the  "  Comedie  Humaine"  into  English.  She  has  already  published 
several  volumes  which  show  a  most  intelligent  sympathy  and  a  talent  that  is  both 
simple  and  vigorous.  Lately  she  translated  "  La  Peau  de  Chagrin  "  ("  The  Magic 
Skin"),  and  now,  taking  another  step  into  the  esoteric  work  of  the  Master,  she  gives 
to  the  Anglo-Saxon  public  "'  Louis  Lambert."  But  she  does  not  venture  upon  this 
arduous  task  without  support.  Mr.  George  Frederic  Parsons  has  undertaken  m  a 
long  introduction  to  initiate  the  reader  into  the  meaning  hidden ,  or.  we  should  rather 
say,  encased,  in  the  psychologic  study  of  a  lofty  soul  which  ends  by  inspiring  mun- 
dane minds  with  respect  for  its  seeming  madness  and  a  deep  sense  of  the  Beyond. 
.  .  .  Many  critics,  and  several  noted  ones,  have  so  little  understood  the  real  mean- 
ing of  "  Louis  Lambert "  and  "  Seraphita  "  that  they  have  wondered  why  the  au- 
thor gave  them  a  place  in  the  "  Comedie  Humaine,"  which,  nevertheless,  without 
them  would  be  a  temple  without  a  pediment,  as  ^^  Taine  very  clearly  saw  and 
said.  Mr.  Parsons  takes  advantage  of  Miss  Wormeley's  translation  to  state  and 
prove  and  elucidate  this  truth.  The  commentary  may  be  thought  a  little  long,  a 
little  replete,  or  too  full  of  comparisons  and  erudite  reference ;  but  all  serious 
readers  who  follow  it  throughout  will  never  regret  that  they  have  thus  prepared 
themselves  to  understand  Balzac's  work.  We  call  the  attention  of  the  philosophi- 
cal and  theosophical  journals  to  this  powerful  study.  [Translated.] 


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BALZAC     IN     ENQLISH 


LOUIS  LAMBERT. 


"As  for  Balzac,"  writes  Oscar  Wilde,  "  he  was  a  most  remarkable  combination 
of  the  artistic  temperament  with  the  scientific  spirit."  It  is  his  artistic  tempera- 
ment  which  reveals  itself  the  most  clearly  in  the  novel  before  us.  As  we  read 
*'  Louis  Lambert,"  we  feel  convinced  that  it  is  largely  autobiographical.  It  is  a 
psychical  study  as  delicate  as  Amiel's  Journal,  and  nearly  as  spiritual.  We  follow 
the  life  of  the  sensitive,  poetical  schoolboy,  feeling  that  it  is  a  true  picture  of  Bal- 
zac's own  youth.  When  the  literary  work  on  which  the  hero  had  written  for  years 
in  all  his  spare  moments  is  destroyed,  we  do  not  need  to  be  told  by  Mr.  Parsons 
that  this  is  an  episode  in  Balzac's  own  experience  ;  we  are  sure  of  this  fact  already ; 
and  no  writer  could  describe  so  sympathetically  the  deep  spiritual  experiences  of 
an  aspiring  soul  who  had  not  at  heart  felt  them  keenly.  No  materialist  could  have 
written  "  Louis  Lambert."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

Of  ail  of  Balzac's  works  thus  far  translated  by  Miss  Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley, 
the  last  in  the  series,  "  Louis  Lambert,"  is  the  most  difficult  of  comprehension. 
It  is  the  second  of  the  author's  Philosophical  Studies.  "The  Magic  Skin"  being 
tiie  first,  and  "  .Seraphita,"  shorily  to  be  published,  being  the  third  and  last.  In 
"Louis  Lambert"  Balzac  has  presented  a  study  of  a  noble  soul — a  spirit  of 
exalted  and  lofty  aspirations  w  hich  chafes  under  the  fetters  of  earthly  existence, 
and  has  no  sympathy  with  the  world  of  materialism.  This  pure-souled  genius  is 
made  the  medium,  moreovei,  for  the  enunciation  of  the  outlines  of  a  system  of 
philosophy  which  goes  to  the  very  roots  of  Oriental  occultism  and  mysticism  as  its 
source,  and  v.^hich  thus  reveals  the  marvellous  scope  of  Balzac's  learning.  The 
scholarly  introduction  to  the  book  by  George  Frederic  Parsons,  in  addition  to 
throwing  a  great  deal  of  valuable  light  upon  other  phases  of  the  work,  shows  hov, 
many  of  the  most  recent  scientific  theories  are  directly  in  line  with  the  doctrines 
broadly  set  forth  by  Balzac  nearly  sixty  years  ago.  Tlie  book  is  one  to  be  studied 
rather  than  read  ;  and  it  is  made  intelligible  by  the  extreniely  able  introduction 
and  by  Miss  Wormeley's  excellent  translation. —  The  Book-Buyer- 

"  Louis  Lambert,"  with  the  two  other  members  of  the  Trilogy,  "  La  Peau  de 
Chagrin"  and  "Seraphita,"  is  a  book  which  presents  many  difficulties  to  tlie 
student.  It  deals  with  profound  and  unfamiliar  subjects,  and  the  meaning  of  the 
author  by  no  means  lies  on  the  surface.  It  is  the  study  of  a  great,  aspiring  sou) 
enshrined  in  a  feeble  body,  the  sword  wearing  out  the  scabbard,  the  spirit  soarmg 
away  from  its  prison-house  of  flesh  to  its  more  congenial  home.  It  is  in  marked 
contrast  to  the  study  of  the  destructive  and  debasing  process  which  we  see  in  the 
"  Peau  de  Chagrin."  It  stands  midway  between  this  study  of  the  mean  and  base 
and  that  noble  i^resentation  of  the  final  evolution  of  a  soul  on  the  very  borders  of 
Divinity  which  Balzac  gives  us  in  "  Serapliita." 

The  reader  not  accustomed  to  such  high  ponderings  needs  a  guide  to  place  him 
en  rapport  with  the  Seer.  Such  a  guide  and  friend  he  finds  in  Mr.  Parsons, 
whose  introduction  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  pages  is  by  no  means  the  least  valu- 
able part  of  this  volume.  It  is  impossible  to  do  move  than  sketch  the  analysis  of 
Balzac's  philosophy  and  the  demonstration  so  successfully  attempted  by  Mr.  Par- 
sons of  the  exact  correlation  between  many  of  Balzac's  speculations  and  the 
newest  scientific  theories.  The  introduction  is  so  closely  written  that  it  defies 
much  condensation,  it  is  so  intrinsicallv  valtiahlo  that  it  will  tlioroughly  repay 
careful  and  minute  study.  — Frotn  ^^  Lii^lit,'"  a  London  Journal  of  Psychical  and 
Occult  Research,  March  9,1889. 

• 

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Alkahest:;''  '■'■  Modcste  Mic:non,^''  "  The  Mastic  Shin,"  *' Cousin  Bette.'^ 
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